


The Courtship of Teddy's Father

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biphobia, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Grimy Corp, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Romance, Single Parents, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 76,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zach and Chris meet as young actors just starting out, they have instant chemistry. But Chris has a young son, and Zach isn’t necessarily looking for a commitment. Is this relationship over before it begins?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/gifts).



> Please ignore my corny title.
> 
> This story grew out of a one-word prompt from Tumblr user rycolfan, which was, "Teddy."

**January, 2003**

Zach pulled his car into the crumbling parking lot and hit his brakes as soon as he got a full view of the brick building in front of him. It was low, perhaps two stories, with a flat roof and the faded remains of an old ad that had been painted on the side of the building (Apex Power Tools—Driller? I Hardly Know Her!). Zach guessed it must have advertised the building’s former function as a manufacturing plant. 

The place was little more than a wreck, with half the windows on the second floor busted out. Zach suspected there had to be rats inside; he suppressed a reactive shudder and looked away, maneuvering his car around and toward the first visible door he found. Looking at the place, he was unconvinced the walls wouldn't just collapse to the ground if he slammed the door too hard, so he parked on the side of the lot away from the building. There was no way he was going to risk damage to his Honda. Sure, it was a complete piece of shit, but it ran, and it had gotten him to LA from Pittsburgh two years ago with almost no trouble at all. Getting out of the car and locking it, he pulled up his pants and took a deep breath to steel himself. He approached the entrance with some trepidation. The door, a reinforced steel thing situated atop a set of five concrete stairs, was unlocked. He pulled it open—it was lighter than it looked—and stepped inside carefully. 

Once inside he saw that the original manufacturing floor had been subdivided into units, with walls haphazardly constructed of unfinished drywall set inside wood frames with cheap aluminum doors built in at intervals. Zach set off in the only direction he had an option to—straight ahead—keeping his wits about him for any sign of occupation, rodent or human. 

He followed the corridor to the end and found another, perpendicular to it. “Hello? Reid?” 

“Zach?” a voice called, off to his left. 

Zach looked and was more relieved to see his friend than he ought to have been. “Jesus, man, what the hell kind of place is this?”

“It's great huh?” Reid said with his lop-sided grin. He beckoned for Zach to join him and disappeared through the doorway. 

The place was certainly large enough—probably 3,000 square feet, with twenty-foot ceilings and banks of windows that faced south, allowing for plenty of light. The floors were an old, beat-up, wood parquet that would probably refinish really nicely, and… what the _hell_ was he doing seeing the charm in this place? It was, unequivocally, a shit hole. There was trash piled in one corner and a pair of pigeons roosting on a set of drippy water pipes overhead. They looked like they might have operated as a fire suppression system once upon a time but were now little more than a vector for the next worldwide pandemic. And it was hot as balls in here. 

“This isn't a rehearsal space, it’s a squat,” Zach said. 

“One man’s hovel is another man’s palace,” Reid said with a laugh, and launched himself at an overstuffed purple sofa that stood forlornly in the middle of the floor.

“Or building code violation,” Zach quipped.

“You just refuse to see the potential,” Reid said airily. He produced a lacrosse ball from somewhere and began tossing it up in the air and catching it.

“Oh great, you made it!” Zach turned to see his friend Babar enter the space. “What do you think?” he asked excitedly.

“I think I need to update my tetanus booster.”

“Don’t be such a snob, Zachary. Anyway, we all said we needed somewhere to work on our shit, and this place is nearly free. My uncle just bought the building to convert it into condos, and he said we could stay until they get around to refurbishing this part of it.”

“How long will that take?”

Babar shrugged. “I dunno, something about asbestos testing?”

“Asbestos testing? Jesus Christ, you guys!”

“Relax, he’s kidding,” Reid said, sitting up.

“As far as you know,” Babar added with a manic twinkle in his eyes.

“I hate you both – why did I even come here?”

“Because you’re an out of work actor and you feel the need to practice your craft amongst those who are your peers?” Babar asked.

Smart ass. Zach cocked a hip and rested his hand on it. “Honey, no one is my peer,” he said, and tossed his head. That got a laugh, at least.

“If you don’t want to go in on the place, Zach, that’s fine,” Reid said. “Just don’t make up your mind until you hear the acoustics in here.” He rose and went to stand in a spot at the front beneath the windows, straightening his torso out and clearing his throat before launching into a soliloquy from Macbeth that made the hairs on Zach’s neck rise. He was fully twenty yards away and speaking conversationally, but Zach could hear him as well as if he was speaking right into his ear.

Zach looked around for a sound system before catching himself. “Holy shit, that’s amazing.” He looked up at the vaulted ceiling with wonder. 

“Right?” Reid said with a laugh. “And the light in here in the evenings has to be seen to be believed.”

“So, are you in?” Babar asked, coming up behind Zach and resting a hand on the back of his neck.

“How much?” Zach asked.

“My uncle just needs us to pay for the utilities and the insurance. Thousand a month.”

“A thousand?” Zach balked. He was already working two jobs and living with two other guys to make ends meet; that money would be the difference between him affording health insurance or not. It might as well have been ten times that amount.

“Less if we get a few more people,” Reid pointed out.

Babar frowned, clearly not too enamored with the idea of sharing the place with any more people, but Zach couldn’t sympathize. “Dude, the more the merrier as far as I’m concerned.”

“Fine, fine,” Babar acquiesced. “We’ll just make them pay a little more.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zach agreed.

“I think I know a guy who’d be perfect,” Reid said with a grin.

\----

Within a week their new “performance space” was more hospitable. Zach made Reid get rid of the pigeons before he’d set foot inside again. He also contributed a few folding chairs and a rickety old card table to their ragtag collection of furnishings, and he was impressed to see that someone (it turned out to be Reid) had also brought in a mid-sized dorm refrigerator for beer and soft drinks. 

One day he arrived to find Babar perched atop a tall ladder in the corner, muttering to himself and wielding a pair of pliers over the very large fan that had been set into the wall near the ceiling. He had the thing’s motor open and was monkeying around with its works and wires or something—Zach couldn’t tell, but it looked dangerous. “What the hell are you doing, trying to electrocute yourself?” he asked. 

Babar turned his sweaty countenance on Zach with a condescending look. “I’m trying to get this damn thing to work if you must know,” he said haughtily. “It’s an exhaust fan – it’ll take some of the hot air out of here.”

“I hope it’s switched off. Where should we send your body?” 

“Fuck you, I interned with a lighting crew one summer in college.”

Shaking his head, Zach crossed the room and grabbed up an old push broom that had apparently come with the place and began sweeping the floors. There was a constant layer of unpleasantly gritty dust about the place, deposited by the Santa Anas, and it was all Zach could do to keep up with it. The broken windows near the ceiling probably didn't help, but maybe the fan could. He silently cheered Babar on. 

The door banged open and Reid came in with a couple of guys Zach had never seen before. He straightened up and watched as they brought another couch in while Reid held the door open. The newcomers were both white guys, blond, about the same height. One of them had lighter hair and a slighter build than the other, whose back was to Zach. 

“You need help—is it heavy?” Zach asked. It looked heavy – like they were struggling a bit.

“Naw, man, we’ve got it.” The guy with his back to him turned momentarily to address him. He smiled and Zach caught the way the skin around his eyes bunched up as he did, as if his entire face was in on the deal. Zach straightened his shoulders and stuck his chest out just a little as he wandered over to them.

They set the couch down at a right angle to the purple one to form an L-shape; as Mr. Eye Crinkles straightened out the cushions, Zach could see it was a pull-out, which explained the heaviness. “I’m Zach.”

“Oh, sorry. This is my friend, Patrick, from class, and his friend, uh…” Reid waved his hand around vaguely.

“Chris,” Crinkles said, wiping his hand on his jeans and holding it out to Zach; it was warm and dry when he shook it, callused.

“Nice to meet you, Chris.” Zach shook Patrick’s hand as well. “Patrick. The guy up on the ladder trying to electrocute himself is Babar.”

“I am not trying to electrocute myself,” Babar said defensively, apparently putting some finishing touches on whatever wiring he was working on, “I am using my superior technical skills to get this damn exhaust fan to work! Now if someone could hit that switch over there, maybe we can get some of this air circulating in here.”

Zach obliged, jogging over to hit a switch on the wall beneath Babar’s ladder. There was a screech as the disused and ancient mechanism engaged, and after a moment it became clear it was moving in the wrong direction. Babar spluttered as it blew bits of dried leaves and dust right into his face. Zach lost the battle not to laugh as he hit the power switch to turn it off again. “Man, I wish I had a camera,” he said.

“Fuck you, at least it’s working.”

“Who wants a beer?” Zach offered, and went to the fridge to fetch them. They settled in on the two couches, Zach and Chris at either end of the new pull-out and the others on the big purple couch that someone along the way had nicknamed Barney. 

“What’s the story behind this place, anyway?” Patrick asked.

As Reid gave them the background on the place, Zach couldn’t help but watch Chris drink his beer. This close, he was even more attractive than Zach initially thought. He looked like the quintessential California boy, with longish, dark blond hair curling around his ears and collar (Zach wondered if it lightened up in the summer), and big blue eyes that paid avid attention to whomever was speaking. He tended to lick his full lips a lot—four times by Zach’s count and only in the last few minutes—so naturally that became the one thing Zach focused on. Chris took a pull on his beer and Zach was so distracted he lost the thread of the conversation. He shifted his focus to whomever was talking at the moment. 

“So we’re planning on using it as a performance space,” Reid said. “We thought it’d be great to have a private place to workshop things if we want, or until Babar’s uncle kicks us out of here anyway.”

“Or the place falls over, whichever comes first,” Zach added, relieved he could join the conversation and not seem like some perv staring at a complete stranger, which he totally was. “But the acoustics in here are too amazing, and it really grows on you. You interested, Patrick?”

“It sounds pretty sweet, but how much is it a month?” They told him. “I dunno if I can afford it,” he said with a disappointed look on his face. “Money’s just really tight right now.”

“I get it,” Reid said, and Zach made a commiserating face, though he was secretly really bummed – they needed to find at least two more people to make this affordable for him as well.

“It’d be less if you had another person to go in on it though, right?” Chris said out of the blue.

“Sure,” Reid said.

“You want another guy? I mean, I know I was just tagging along today, but it’d be pretty cool to have a place like this, not to have to rent a room in a basement somewhere downtown.”

“Or in your parents’ basement, huh?” Patrick said with a laugh, reaching out with his foot to nudge Chris’s knee. Chris grinned at him and made suitable agreement noises. 

“So you’re an actor?” Zach asked. Of course he was, Zach thought, look at him.

“Yeah, kinda.” His cheeks flushed fetchingly. “Not that I’ve been in anything yet really.”

“Yes you have, you were on an episode of _ER_ ,” Patrick said.

“Blink and you missed me,” Chris said dismissively. He sank back against the couch cushions, pulling the neck of his t-shirt up to cover his chin. 

“On the contrary—your portrayal of ‘Tweaking Teen’ moved me beyond words, Christopher, do not sell yourself short.”

“I will have you know I played ‘Pothead Teen,’ and the fact you don’t remember my finely nuanced performance wounds me to my core.” 

“I apologize for my thoughtlessness.” They both dissolved into laughter. “Hey, at least you’ve had a job; there are little ghosts living on _my resume_ ,” Patrick said.

“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” Zach pointed out.

“But not everyone gets to portray a cat-phobic male witch, Zachary,” Babar said.

“Man, fuck you!” Zach crowed with laughter. “It was a job.”

“A job on what?” Patrick asked.

“Some television show called _Charmed._ ”

“Oh, I know that one—my sister is crazy about that show!” Patrick said. “Plus it’s got Alyssa Milano in it. Did you have any scenes with her?”

Zach nodded. “A few. She’s really nice. We got to wrestle around a little.”

“Man, I’m jealous—she is so hot,” Patrick said enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah, uh-huh, sure,” Zach said half-heartedly. He never knew when to broach the subject of his sexuality with new acquaintances, so his default response was to feign being hetero until he knew if they were cool or not. It was more a survival tactic than anything, especially in this business. He glanced at Chris, who was looking at him with closer scrutiny than before, and he wondered if that meant anything. He held his gaze for a beat longer than was strictly necessary, and Chris was the first to look away.

“So are you interested?” Patrick asked, prodding Chris with the toe of his sneaker.

“I dunno maybe.”

“Come on, you should, you should, you should,” Patrick kept poking at Chris’s calf with his toe.

“It’s how much?”

“If you’re in, two hundred a month,” Reid said.

“I dunno if I can swing it.”

“What, so you sacrifice for a little while—we all are,” Patrick pointed out. 

“Yeah, but I mean is it this space or eat Top Ramen each night? I mean…”

Patrick blew air out of his mouth in an unimpressed manner. “Like your old man’d let you starve.”

“Man, shut up,” Chris said, finally removing his leg from the range of Patrick’s shoe. He looked annoyed.

“Who’s his old man?” Babar asked.

“He’s no one, you know, he’s just an actor. We’re not rich or anything.” Zach could see a flush growing on Chris’s cheeks, extending down his neck.

“He was on CHiPs—he played the Captain or whatever.”

“Sergeant, and shut up already.”

“Robert Pine is your dad?” Zach blurted out, ignoring his usual instinct to stay out of such things.

“Yeah,” Chris mumbled; his cheeks were the color of overcooked lobster now.

“That’s so cool!” Zach couldn’t resist bouncing up and down on the couch enthusiastically. Chris’s dad was the kind of working-man’s actor that Zach hoped he could be: he worked constantly, he was consistently good, and any of them would be lucky to have half the career he’d had. “Growing up with an actor must’ve been so cool. Did you always know you wanted to do this?”

“No, not until college, really. My family didn't put any pressure on at all.”

“Pressure?”

“Yeah, my mom was an actress, and her mom too, but I was never made to feel like I had to do this or anything. I just liked it.”

“You’re seriously blowing my mind. I swear everyone thought I was a freak growing up for wanting this, or an idiot. Or both.”

“Same here,” Reid said, and Patrick nodded in agreement.

“Third generation Hollywood, that’s like epic, man.”

“Tell it to my bank account,” Chris said.

“This is your destiny, Chris,” Patrick said. “The family business. So how could you not go in on this place?” Chris rolled his eyes. “Hone your craft? Work on your instrument? Or something?” Patrick was grinning wide, completely full of shit, and he knew it. 

Chris shook his head, but Zach thought he might be on the fence anyway. “Do what you have to do. But if we get just one or two more people in on it, it’ll only go down from there. And if you need it, I’ll spot you the first month,” Zach said impetuously.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” He stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “OK fine, I’ll uh, I’ll find the money somehow.”

“Awesome!” Patrick enthused.

“This is going to be so great!” Zach said, smiling wide. Chris’s answering smile wasn’t as enthusiastic, but he looked thoughtful and hopeful.

\----

Zach pulled into his usual parking spot outside the Grimy Corps Playhouse. Chris had coined the name the week before because of the thin layer of gritty dust that lay over everything like a shroud. Nothing they did could get rid of it – they were just going to have to wait until the Santa Anas eased come Spring. 

As he approached the door, he could hear Babar holding forth, quite loudly. The piece sounded Shakespearean, though Zach didn't immediately recognize the play. 

“Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;  
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;  
This sensible warm motion to become  
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit  
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside  
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;”

Babar was practically manic as he strode back and forth up on the stage—yes, stage; his mom had decided to spoil her baby and sprung for the rental of several risers, which had been delivered the week before. Zach had to admit they helped create the right kind of atmosphere, though he feared imminent collapse given the way Babar was striding back and forth.

He went on, gesticulating wildly, “To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,  
And blown with restless violence round about  
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst  
Of those that lawless and incertain thought  
Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!  
The weariest and most loathed worldly life  
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment  
Can lay on nature is a paradise  
To what we _fear of death_.”

By the last line, he’d sunk to his knees, and had gotten such a head of steam up that he was now panting. He looked up at Patrick and Chris, who were sitting on Barney the purple couch and said, “Well?”

“You sure that’s the way you want to play it?” Patrick said.

“What do you mean? The guy’s talking about his death, he’s upset.”

“Yeah, but he’s trying to tell his sister he doesn’t want to die to save her virtue, don’t you think that ought to carry a bit more gravitas in delivery?”

“No, no, no,” Babar protested, heading down stage to stand over Patrick, hands on his hips. 

Zach watched from the doorway, reluctant to enter and be drawn into the drama. Apparently feeling the same, Chris rose from the couch and retreated to the quasi kitchenette they'd set up beside the industrial sink on the one inside wall. When he spotted Zach he threw him a look that said, _Holy crap what is going on here_. 

Zach returned what he hoped was interpreted as an _It’s Babar, man, you know he's a drama queen_ shrug. 

Apparently it was successful because Chris rolled his eyes as if in agreement. He beckoned Zach over with a toss of his head as he fussed with a cheap Mr. Coffee machine someone had brought in. Zach leaned up against the table beside the sink with his arms crossed, watching as Chris removed the basket with its old wet grounds and dumped them in the garbage can. “What is that piece?” he asked at a near whisper.

“Claudio’s soliloquy from _Measure for Measure_ ,” Chris answered. “I’d say it needs work.”

“Ya think?” 

“Well, what he lacks in subtlety he more than makes up for in…” Chris rolled his hand around on his wrist, trying to search for the right word.

“Bathos?”

“That’s it.” Chris pointed at him moved to the sink to rinse the coffee pot out. 

They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, but already Zach found Chris to be one of the more interesting people he'd ever met. They had similar approaches to acting and found themselves on the same side of more group discussions than not. The fact Chris had studied English lit in college had also contributed to a number of lively discussions from which the others tended to flee as soon as one or both of them got up a head of steam. These discussions usually ending only because one of them had to leave. 

Zach watched Chris fill the reservoir on the coffee maker with cold water from the pot, the fingertips on his left hand resting lightly on the edge of the mechanism to hold it steady. Chris's fingers were long and deft, his hands large, facts that occasionally caused a high degree of distraction, like now, when he was saying something that Zach didn't catch. 

“Hmm? What?”

“I said are there any more coffee filters over there?”

Zach turned to look through the assortment of disposable dishes and dry snacks on the table and found the packet. “It's empty,” he said after opening it up. 

“Crap. Oh well my dad always says necessity is the mother of invention.” Chris cast about the table and found a roll of paper towels. Pulling two of them off the roll, he carefully lined the basket of the coffee maker and spooned in some coffee grounds from a can that sat nearby. The maker sizzled and hissed when he hit the power button, and eventually a stream of dark liquid flowed forth, filling the area with rich aromas. 

Behind them, Babar was complaining loudly to Patrick about their varying interpretations of the scene—he apparently had an audition for a play being workshopped downtown—and it was clear his opinions were not getting the attention he felt he deserved, as his voice was getting shriller. Patrick, as usual, kept his voice low and even and argued his points without emotion or judgment. Naturally, Babar had no use for them.

“He always this histrionic?” Chris asked with a smile. 

“You think this is bad, you should hear him argue with his dad. It’s like the Pakistani Honeymooners.” 

“I don't know if I want to,” Chris said as the coffee maker burped out a final splash of coffee into the pot. “You want a cup?”

Zach nodded, grabbing two mugs from the drain board and setting them down. Chris poured, then set the pot back on the burner and poured a measure of non-dairy creamer into his, using a nearby plastic knife to stir it. Zach blew on his own for a moment to cool it before taking a swig from the mug. The liquid flowed over his tongue, still too hot, but as he swallowed and his taste buds engaged, he winced visibly. 

“God, this stuff is the _worst_ ,” Chris said, a pained expression on his face. “I swear I know how to make coffee—I don’t know what happened.” 

“Don't blame yourself, man, it’s cheap, awful stuff.” 

Chris took another sip and frowned. “I miss Starbucks,” he said wistfully. 

Zach raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

“Had to give up something to afford to chip in on this place.”

“Ah.” Zach raised the mug to his lips, caught a whiff of the god awful swill and poured it down the sink. Behind them, Babar was whining about his process, and Patrick looked like he wanted to strangle him.

Zach looked at Chris and made a calculation. “Hey, you wanna get out of here and get some real coffee? I'm buying.” 

Chris looked simultaneously hopeful and disappointed. “Naw, man I can't let you buy me coffee.” 

“Sure you can. Consider it my thank you for joining our merry little band of players. You're saving us all some bucks, the least I can do is treat you to a coffee.”

“OK, sure.” 

A smile dawning on Chris's face was something to behold; his mouth widened and them the corners turned up, pushing his eyes to crinkle adorably. It was like the sunrise, Zach thought, and when the hell had he gotten so corny? 

“Starbucks?” Chris suggested.

“Nah, there's this great place near where I live in Silver Lake. One taste and you'll forget all about Starbucks.”

\----

“LAMILL?” Chris pronounced when they met at the front door of the place in question. They'd driven over in their respective cars since Chris would have to leave by 4. 

“More like Nirvana,” Zach said, heading for the door. “Come on in. What's your pleasure?”

“Americano?”

Zach nodded approvingly and went to the counter to order, leaving Chris to choose a table. He took one in a sunny corner, with a chess board painted on its surface. Zach deposited the coffees and took the seat oppositehim. Chris excused himself to add a splash of cream to his drink and came back. He took a sip and his eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy. 

“Oh my god, this is absolute heaven.” 

Zach grinned. “You think that's good you should try their house blend. It's a life changer.” 

“I believe it.” Chris took another blissful sip. “Aw man, now I'll never be able to go back to that other crap.”

“Yeah you will. But you'll know there's something better out there and some day— _some day, Christopher_ —you will find your way back.”

“Ha ha, you're funny. You sure you shouldn't have been a screenwriter? You've got quite the ear for dialogue.” 

“What, with this gorgeous face?” Zach said expansively. “With the too large nose and the Burt the muppet eyebrows? Are you kidding?”

“Face made for radio huh?” 

Zach smiled.

“I dunno, it's a pretty nice face,” Chris said, biting his lip. 

Their eyes met for a second and Zach could swear he was serious. “Nahhh,” he said self-deprecatingly. He'd never got the hang of being complimented and accepting it graciously. “Not as nice as yours.”

Chris looked down at his hands surrounding the coffee mug and shook his head. His hair fell forward over his face but Zach could see his cheeks coloring. 

They drank their coffees without talking for a few minutes. Chris began fingering the edges of the paint on the chessboard on the tabletop

“You know they have chess pieces behind the counter if you ask. You just have to leave them a $20 deposit until you give them back. Do you play?”

“I do.”

“You wanna?”

Chris shrugged. “Sure.”

Zach rose and went to the counter, trading his car keys for the pieces—he’d used his last twenty on the coffees. He returned to the table with the chess pieces; they were all jumbled together in a cloth bag so he dumped them out on the tabletop. He took a black and a white pawn in each hand, switched them around behind his back, and held his hands out to Chris. He chose Zach's left hand; it was black. 

“Guess I go first,” Zach said, taking a seat. They sorted through their pieces and set up the board. “Do you play much?”

“Not in the last couple years,” Chris said, staring out the window. “Been a little busy.”

“I get it,” Zach moved one of his pawns and Chris mirrored the move Zach moved another. 

“So you live around here?” Chris asked.

“I do. It's the part of town that most reminds me of back home.”

“Where is that?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“Nice. I'm from here.” 

“So I guessed.”

“Really? Am I that much of a type?”

“Oh, it's not like that,” Zach said, moving his queen-side knight out, “it's more of an attitude. Or an affect, maybe. People out here are preternaturally laid back. You never see that in people from back east, even the ones who have been here for a while.” 

“Because you're all so uptight? Isn't that a boring cliché?” Chris moved his queen.

“It became a cliché for a reason, right? But it's not entirely what I meant. Easterners have this awareness about them, not to say that Californians do not, it's just that we are a lot less subtle about it.” He sipped at his coffee. “It's like the difference between a hawk and an owl. They're both predators, but the hawk is just really obvious about it, you know?”

“And owls are just kind of cute and fluffy and laid back?”

“Until they eat you.” 

Chris laughed. “That sounds about right.” 

They'd been playing through their entire conversation and now that Zach was paying attention, he saw Chris had left his rook vulnerable, so he took it. Chris shook his head and moved his bishop in to compensate. 

“Where'd you go to school?” Chris asked as he drained the rest of his coffee. 

“Carnegie Mellon,” Zach said. “The drama program.”

“It's a good program.”

“Thanks. And you?”

“UC Berkeley.” Zach whistled low, impressed. Chris smiled proudly. “I was an English major, as you know, but then a buddy talked me into auditioning for a play he was directing and…man, that was it. I was hooked.”

“What was the play?”

“ _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_.”

“Tom Stoppard, cool.” Zach made an impressed face. 

“Not really I played Hamlet.”

Zach laughed. “Well, you can still say you played Hamlet on stage.” 

“Ha, yeah.” 

Zach moved a chess piece, followed by Chris, who asked, “So what about you? When did you get bit by the acting bug?”

“When I was in middle school, I took this summer theater program. I didn't want to at all but my mom insisted I needed to get out of the house, she was worried.”

“Why?”

“Zach scratched his nose and stared at the board, making his vision go deliberately blurry. “My dad died when I was ten. I was kind of… angry about it, I guess you'd say.”

“Aw I'm sorry, that's… That’s rough on a kid, to lose a parent.” 

Zach shrugged and rolled his neck, his usual tell that a conversation was getting uncomfortably close to emotional. When he glanced up at Chris, there was real compassion in his eyes, though, and understanding. Zach couldn't look away. “It is. But the program, it really took me outside myself, and I was able to cope. By the end of the summer I was jumping around on the living room furniture pretending I was Puck, so I guess my mom was right.” He laughed and Chris smiled his crinkly smile and Zach could practically feel his heart flutter in his chest. 

Zach picked up his coffee and noticed it was empty. “Aw crap, I'm on E. You want another? They've got free refills of the coffee of the day before five.” 

Chris glanced at his watch. “I can't, I've got to leave in fifteen minutes,” he said regretfully.

Zach cursed as he looked up at the clock above the counter. “You're sure I can't entice you with my expert chess playing?”

Chris appeared truly torn as he gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I can't be late,” he muttered. “At this hour it'll take an hour to get to Pasadena.” 

Zach got it. He remembered Chris tended bar somewhere, though he never found out exactly where. “No, of course,” he said, disappointed their time together had to end. “You were beating me anyway,” he added, gesturing at the table. 

Chris smirked. “I was wondering when you'd notice. It’s ‘mate in three moves.” 

Zach considered the board, feeling stunned. It hadn't looked like Chris was really paying attention to the game, the way he'd haphazardly thrown his pieces around, but clearly he'd been wrong. He looked up at Chris, his already high opinion rising yet again. “You sneaky thing.”

Chris shrugged and rose, grabbing for his messenger bag and keys. “Owls and hawks," he said, smiling at Zach.

Once again they were caught in a moment of just staring at each other, and Zach wasn't crazy, right, there was some interest there? His heart began hammering in his chest as Chris pushed his chair in against the table and he blurted, “Have dinner with me.”

Chris looked surprised and then a little regretful and Zach's heart sank. “I've gotta go…”

It wasn't no. “Not now, but like sometime you know? I think I like you.” God that was lame, Zach thought, was he going to ask him to prom next? 

“Oh um, ok. Th-that's…” Chris blushed and smiled and stuttered and Zach's heart sped up. “Yeah, um, ha!” He looked up at the ceiling and blew air out of his lips, ruffling the long bangs that hung in his eyes. “Great. That would be great, actually.”

“Yeah?” Zach felt relief flood through him. “Awesome! I know this really cool pizza place around here, they make the dough with New York tap water, and it’s the best! Or there's this little taqueria up the block I've been meaning to try. It's vegetarian though, so if you're not into that I get it. Or…”

“I'm sure we'll figure it out, Chris interrupted, saving Zach from himself. “I'll see you on Friday anyway, right? We'll compare schedules then.”

“Yeah, OK. See you then.”

Chris raised his hand. “Bye,” he said, then walked away. 

Zach totally did not check out his ass as he walked out the door, he was just making sure he got to his car OK.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Zach go on a date.

Chris had a sappy smile on his face the entire way back to his car, and he was certain his cheeks were bright red, he could feel it. All he could do was recall the expression on Zach's face, already in planning mode as he ran down the list of things they might do on a date. It was something he seemed always to do, as if his mind was two or three steps ahead of the group at any one time. Chris wondered if his new friend hadn't missed his calling; he'd make a terrific director or producer. What he'd seen of Zach’s acting was pretty phenomenal too; they'd all assigned each other scenes and monologues to work on over the last weeks, to keep their skills sharp. Zach and Reid had done a scene from _Buried Child_ , with Zach playing the father, and Chris was amazed at how he'd been able to transform himself, in body language and manner, into a 70-something year old man. Chris didn't think he'd be able to top that—he and Patrick were working on a scene from _Long Day’s Journey into Night_ \--and he was worried he was overplaying it, if one could ever overplay a consumptive mama’s boy. They were due to perform it for the group the following week. 

The fates were with him and traffic was light, so he made it to his parents' house in under an hour. He pulled his car into the driveway behind his mother's and turned the car off. Getting out, he opened the door to her backseat and blinked at what he found there. He felt a flicker of annoyance as he stood back up and slammed the door shut, then headed to the back door, which was closest. 

It was a warm day—February in LA rarely got below 65 degrees—so he slid the screen door aside and walked right into the familiar kitchen. His mom was rolling out some sort of dough on the marble countertop. 

“Hi hun,” she said happily as she presented her cheek to him to kiss, which he did dutifully. 

She must have been planning to make pizza, because there were already bell peppers and mushrooms sliced up on a nearby cutting board. He snagged a few peppers and then sat down on one of the stools across the kitchen island from her. “Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are there two child seats in the back of your car?”

“Well you know, I was beginning to get tired of always switching when you come to pick up Teddy, so I bought a new one for my car.” 

“Mom, I told you I didn't want you to get me anything more. You already do too much.”

She made a dismissive noise. “I bought it for _me_ Christopher, I don't see what the problem is.”

“But the old one is the one that's belted into the backseat of your car.” 

“Is it? Oh, well, I mean, it was already there, darling, what difference does it make?” She looked at him with eyes that dared him to challenge her further on it, and he let it drop. He had no doubt she'd buy another one to replace the beat-up yet sturdy hand-me-down Chris had gotten from his cousin Frannie. He sighed.

“Where is he?”

“In the TV room. Drawing.”

Chris tossed the last pepper into his mouth and went to find his child in the next room. 

Teddy stood in front of a kid-sized easel and its huge pad of paper, a purple crayon in his right hand, coloring in what looked like it might be an eggplant to Chris but was more likely supposed to be a pterodactyl or something—the kid was obsessed with dinosaurs.

“Whatcha drawing there, Sprout?” he asked the three and a half-year old from the doorway. 

At the sound of his voice, Teddy spun around, crayon and drawing forgotten as he shrieked, “Daddy!” and ran to Chris, arms outstretched. Chris bent over and gathered him into his arms, lifting him effortlessly and holding him close. Teddy kissed him sloppily and then wrapped his wiry arms around his neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too buddy.” Chris pushed him back a bit, balancing the boy on his hip so they could speak. “How was your day?”

“It was goooood! Nanny and Pop-Pop and me went to the farm and saw the baby cows and then Nanny milked a cow and it was gross!”

“Gross?! How gross, like icky squishy worms gross, or like broccoli gross?”

Teddy made a show of considering his answer, cocking his head to the side and poking his tiny forefinger right into the dimple in his cheek. “Prolly just broccoli gross. And then there was poop!”

“Poop?! Now that _is_ gross! I may never drink milk again.”

“Not poop in the milk, silly! It was later, another cow.” 

“Oh all right. Whew! You ready to go?”

Teddy nodded. 

“Really?” Chris looked pointedly around the family room, which had gradually been taken over by his son's things over the last years. There was a huge toy box in the corner beside his dad's old BarcaLounger, the easel Teddy loved so much with about 15 million crayons and finger paints, a rocking horse named Steve, and an entire army of dinosaurs, drawn up into ranks with the carnivores separated from the herbivores so there'd be no funny stuff when Teddy wasn't around. One entire bookcase was given over to kid’s books and DVDs. Chris didn't remember being indulged this much as a child, but then again his parents were a lot mellower these days. The room was a bit of a mess, and Chris watched as Teddy went about, picking up his toys and other things. He then helped Teddy on with his sneakers and they returned to the kitchen. 

“Ok tell Nanny ‘bye and give kisses,” Chris said to his son as they came close to the island. 

Teddy threw his arms around Gwynne Pine's hips and squeezed; she bent over and embraced his head while being careful to avoid touching him with her floury hands. 

“Stay for dinner? It's pizza night. Your dad and I can’t eat all of this.”

“I dunno, Mom...” 

“It's pizza night, Daddy, pizza night!” Teddy said, hopping excitedly from foot to foot.

Gwynne's pizza was somewhat legendary and Chris hadn't had it in a while. It was not difficult to give in. “Got any pepperoni?”

Ninety minutes later, Chris finally got them out the door and had secured Teddy into the new car seat, half a pizza wrapped up in foil and resting on the front passenger seat for Katie. She and Chris lived together in a small bungalow not far away, which made child care easy for him when he had to work nights, like tonight. He was endlessly grateful that his family could help him out with Teddy, and he hoped someday to be able to repay them. But Gwynne loved pitching in to raise her grandson, and Katie was happy to be able to share the rent and living expenses. 

As he drove, they sang along with Teddy's favorite mix cd on the stereo, one that Katie had pulled together for them. 

“ _Istanbul was Constantinople_  
Now it’s Istanbul not Constantinople  
Been a long time gone, Constantinople  
Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night

 _Every gal in Constantinople_  
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople  
So if you've a date in Constantinople  
She'll be waiting in Istanbul.”

Chris pulled into his driveway and killed the engine, then got out and freed Teddy from his seat. Katie was already home, and he knew the door would already be unlocked, so he sent Teddy ahead as he gathered up the pizza and his bag, plus the boy's jacket and his favorite dinosaur, a plastic plesiosaur named Hrothgar. He was going to have to stop letting Katie name the kid's toys. 

Katie and Teddy were mid-hug in the living room by the time Chris came in through the door. “I brought you some of Mom’s pizza,” Chris called to her as he hung up his bag and Teddy’s jacket on the hooks by the door. 

Katie made yummy noises and followed him to the tiny kitchen, where she grabbed herself a beer while Chris put the kettle on to boil. 

“Daddy, can I have a bessert?” Teddy asked, plucking at Chris’s belt.

“But of course!” Chris said. He got some strawberries from the fridge and cut them up into a small dish, then topped them with whipped cream from a can. Teddy climbed up onto one of the chairs at their tiny kitchen table and waited patiently while Chris served him. Chris couldn’t resist ruffling his hair as he tucked in; strawberries were his favorite and Chris bought them as often as he could afford to—even this time of year, when they were completely out of season.

“Did my boys have a good day?” Katie asked, settling in beside Teddy on another chair and pushing his bangs to the side neatly. She ate her pizza cold from the foil. Teddy recounted his visit to the farm in even greater detail than Chris received earlier, and Katie made all the appropriate impressed noises, giggling as he described Gwynne’s attempt at milking the cow. “Please tell me there are pictures.”

“Apparently not—Dad really let the team down on that one if you ask me,” Chris said. The kettle came to a boil and Chris went to make himself some more coffee—he’d need it to get through his shift tonight. He scooped a fair amount of Starbucks House Blend into the French press and poured a bit of hot water over the grounds, swirling them around before adding the rest and checking the time on his watch. This one would be much better than the swill he’d turned out at the Corps, he was confident.

“When’s your shift?” Katie asked. 

“Nine to three.”

She frowned. “Ugh.”

“Gives me time for bath and bedtime, though,” Chris said, watching his son try to shove literally half his strawberries into his face on one spoonful and getting berry juice and whipped cream all over his face. “Just in time, it looks like,” he observed, grabbing a dish towel and cleaning Teddy’s face. “Coffee?”

Katie shook her head and he returned to the counter to push down on the plunger in the coffee press. The first sip was like heaven, and was the perfect thing to get him ready for the night ahead. He tended bar Tuesdays and Thursdays at a local club where the people were nice and the tips were decent; on Friday nights and Sunday brunches he was a food runner at an upscale restaurant. It wasn’t enough, but the small inheritance he’d gotten from his grandparents and the fact he didn’t have to pay for daycare helped a lot. It left his days free to audition and, now, work at Grimy Corps with the guys. He already felt the exposure to other actors was doing him good. 

“You have a good day at your little… actors’ enclave?” Katie sipped her beer, clearly interested.

He shrugged. “If by ‘good,’ you mean holding a grown man’s hand as he misinterprets a pivotal scene from a Shakespearean play and then getting screamed at for your trouble, then it was terrific.” Her eyebrows went up. “It was Babar,” Chris explained, “he’s got an audition next week, so that’ll take precedence to whatever else we want to work on.”

“Of course.”

“Patrick seemed to be handling it OK, at least from what I saw before I left with Zach.”

“Oooooooo, Zaaaaaach,” she teased, her voice taking on the mocking, big sisterly tone that went straight to his balls and made them want to retreat inside his body. Still, he couldn’t help grinning at her. 

“Yes. Zach,” he said, eyeing Teddy pointedly. Chastened, Katie rose and came over to where Chris stood so they could speak out of earshot of little pitchers with big ears. Not like that was really possible—their kitchen was tiny—but Teddy was immersed in a dinosaur book he’d produced from somewhere anyway. It wasn’t that Chris would never expose his son to his dating life, it was just that… he didn’t really have one. “He bought me coffee at some fancy place down in Silver Lake, and it was nice.”

“ _He_ bought _you_ coffee?”

“Well, yeah, to thank me for, um, buying into the rehearsal space or something.” 

“Uh huh, sure. Or maybe he just wanted to get b-u-s-y.”

Chris could feel his cheeks warming; he was beginning to realize what a setup it had been. He had to admire Zach for going for it. “Maybe. He did ask me on a d-a-t-e.”

She was clearly pleased by this. “What did you say?”

“I said it’d be nice. We’re going to talk about it on Friday, but you know, now that I’m thinking about it, I dunno.”

“What? Don’t weasel out of this, Christopher. You talk about him constantly and he’s the first person you’ve shown a real interest in since…” she bit her tongue, looking back in Teddy’s direction with concern. She whispered, “Well, you know, _since Desi_. You should get out there.” She rubbed at his arm soothingly when he looked away.

“I don’t know if I want to be out there,” he confessed. “Last time I went with a guy it didn’t go so well, you will recall.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Letting the quarterback f-i-n-g-e-r you under the bleachers sophomore year in high school does not count. Come on, from what you’ve said, this Zach guy sounds really nice and smart. Give yourself a chance.”

Chris shook his head and glanced over at Teddy again, who had somehow managed to get the rest of his whipped cream smeared all over his face. He raised his voice, “The only thing I’m giving right now, is a bath. To that guy.” He pointed at Teddy, who looked up at him innocently. “What do you say, Bean?”

\----

“Bath tiiime,” Chris sang, bundling his son into the bedroom to get undressed before going down the hall to vto run the water. Of all the things he loved about being a dad, this definitely ranked in the top three. At the end of the day, they were both more contemplative and open, and Teddy often came out with some of the funniest things, like the time he decided to name his penis Santa. 

“Hey, you’re supposed to get undressed,” Chris said, returning to the bedroom. 

Teddy sat on his bed staring at his hands. “The buddons are too hard, Daddy.” He looked up at Chris with his large hazel eyes, his small hands turned up in front of him , utterly confounded by his little man button down, a blue and green checked thing that Katie had gotten him from Gap Kids for Christmas. Chris thought their clothes were cool and all, but were probably better suited for indulgent aunts and grandmothers than pragmatic parents or just-learning-to-dress-themselves toddlers, he thought. 

“Did I not teach you the short cut? What kind of father am I?” Chris got down on his knees in front of the boy. “You don’t have to unbutton all of them – just like the first two or so, then you can pull it over your head, like this.” He demonstrated by grabbing the hem of the shirt and lifting it up. Teddy raised his arms to assist, and soon he was sitting there in his undershirt. “See what I mean?” Teddy nodded. “Think you can get the rest?” He nodded again and Chris grabbed a pair of pj’s and a pull-up diaper for him and returned to the bathroom to monitor the water situation.

Chris was sitting on the edge of the tub when the little guy finally followed him in.

“Ready, Daddy!” Teddy said.

Chris grinned, as always highly amused at the sight of his kid’s pale, skinny ass standing there in front of him. He was just like his old man—no hips to speak of. Chris helped him into the tub and got to washing his hair first, using an old ricotta cheese container to wet his hair. He squirted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and lathered up Teddy’s hair, foregoing his usual practice of turning the sudsy mass into Viking horns or a Mohawk since he was running late. Teddy’s hair was nearly as long as Chris’s, though darker and with a lot more curl to it, so it usually made for a lot of fun shapes with the shampoo. Chris made short work of rinsing out the shampoo, applied a bit of conditioner, which he combed through, then grabbed up the wash cloth and Katie’s apple-scented body wash. Teddy patiently endured it all, raising his arms and his butt in turn, never losing focus on the toys that Chris had dumped into the water from the small, purple basket they were kept in, the dolphins and yellow rubber duckies and brightly colored fish of all species.

Finally, Chris rinsed the conditioner out and sat back for a moment, watching as his son continued an ongoing narrative for his bath toys. As usual, they had to be arranged in some sort of order; Teddy’s focus on lining things up was one Chris wondered at; he himself was always very haphazard, but Teddy needed order in all things. Fish were queued up by size and then by color, the amphibious dinosaurs were arrayed at the back, behind him; the dolphins and ducks formed a protective phalanx around the fish. And at the forefront, as ever, a naked Ariel doll held sway. Chris never knew where she had come from—it was one of those Barbie-sized things, and she did have a mermaid tail and bikini top around the house somewhere—but as soon as she’d shown up, bath time got a little more interesting. She was the only human-type thing in the mix, and the fact her speech patterns and behavior—bossy and loving in equal measure—were nearly identical to Katie’s was not lost on Chris, though his sister seemed oblivious to the homage. 

“Mr. Snowy Duck, it is time for an adventure,” Ariel, voiced by Teddy, said in a high-pitched yet regal falsetto. She stood tall above those assembled, the only figure allowed to do so. All the other toys lay floating in the water.

“Yes, an adventure!” the duck, so named because of his green ski cap, replied excitedly. “What shall we do, Ariel?”

“We shall go to the land of raindrop gumdrops and rescue the children!”

“Yes! Yes, we must rescue the children!”

Chris wasn’t sure what that entailed, but he did need to get ready for work, so he stood up and went to the vanity to get ready. His hair was a mess, so he combed it, attempting to arrange it in something resembling a style and utterly failing. He briefly contemplated shaving and gave up on it—a two-day growth of stubble was probably more fitting with the club’s aesthetic—then brushed his teeth to get the taste of stale coffee out of his mouth. Behind him, Ariel and Mr. Snowy Duck were embarking on their quest, though they’d apparently hit a snag when a sea unicorn (in actuality a narwhal but who was he to squelch Teddy's enthusiasm?) clashed with Ariel. 

“Hey, you want me to take over in here so you can get dressed?” Katie asked from the doorway.

Chris looked at her gratefully. “You don’t mind?”

She shrugged. “You already did the hard stuff.”

Chris smiled and eased past her, heading for the bedroom closet. He rooted around for something clean to wear—the club preferred him to wear all black on shift, and given the amount of times he’d had drinks knocked over onto him, it was a practical consideration. None of his black jeans were clean, so he liberated a pair of chinos from the bottom of the folded laundry in the basket on the floor and grabbed a black button-down from a hanger. He was sitting on the old rocking chair in the corner pulling his boots on, when Katie and Teddy came in from the bathroom. 

Katie had dressed him in pajamas, his wet hair was combed back and already curling at the ends. “Can Daddy tuck me in and read stories?” Teddy asked. 

“I dunno,” Katie said. They both looked up at Chris. “Do you have time?” 

Chris glanced at his watch. He'd be cutting it close, but he couldn't resist those eyes—either of them, actually. “Definitely time for tucking in and kisses, if Auntie Katie can do stories.” 

He picked Teddy up for the nightly ritual of getting ready for bed as Katie made herself scarce. They started with the stuffed animals, who were lined up by size, naturally, in a woven hammock anchored to the wall in the corner of the room. “Good night anipals,” Chris greeted. 

“Good night, good night!” Teddy said, and blew kisses to them all. 

“Which one will you pick for tonight?” Chris allowed him to sleep with just one animal in addition to the ever-present Hrothgar or else his small bed would be taken over. 

Teddy gave it careful consideration. “Tonight is The Duchess's turn,” he decided. 

Chris picked up Duchess Blitherington-Poppycock, a white stuffed hippo about the size of a newborn, and turned her to face Teddy. “Oh how lovely!” Chris declared in a high-pitched, posh British accent. “This is _such_ an honor! My word!” God, he sucked; Katie always did it better. He pressed the hippo against Teddy's face, her floppy arms already outspread for the hug he gave her, and they went on their way to the next stop on their tour of the bedroom: the dresser. 

“Good night Mr. Clown!” they said to the painted lamp that was a remnant from Chris's childhood. At the window: “Good night curtains! Good night orange trees that sway in the breeze!” Yes, the book _Good Night Moon_ had played a key part in this nightly ritual, and Chris wouldn't have it any other way. 

At last they came to their final stop, a mural painted on the wall above Teddy's bed. It depicted a blue sky and clouds with a smiling, happy sun, plus soaring birds and hot air balloons in the distance. In the foreground, a biplane was being flown by a young woman. She was turned around in her seat, a leather helmet and goggles perched on her head while a white silk scarf flowed behind. She had one hand up in a wave, and she was laughing. 

“Good night, Mommy!” Teddy said as Chris held him forward so he could kiss her on the cheek. 

“Good night, Desi,” Chris said to her with a soft smile before tucking Teddy into the “big boy bed” Chris’s parents had bought him in the Fall. He settled the Duchess and Hrothgar in beside him, and Teddy immediately hooked his arm around the dinosaur. 

“Time for a story Daddy?” He looked up at Chris all sweet and innocent, but Chris recognized a con when he saw one. 

“Nope, sorry I’ve got to go, remember? Auntie Katie will be in to read to you, OK?”

“OK,” came the disappointed reply.

“I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning, all right?” Teddy nodded and Chris sat down on the bed beside him. He leaned over him for a hug and a kiss. “I love you, my little bean sprout.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” Teddy said softly, his mouth pressed against Chris’s neck. Chris sat back and ran a finger down his son’s face, finally booping him on the nose. “Daddy? Who’s Zach?”

Chris suppressed a groan; so much for Teddy's ignoring his conversation with Katie earlier. “He’s a friend of Daddy’s.”

“Is he nice?”

“He is.”

“Do you like him?”

“I like him very much.”

“Enough to do a sleepover?” Sleepovers were Teddy's current obsession, ever since he’d been allowed to stay overnight at Chris’s cousin’s house for New Year’s.

Chris coughed. “I, um…”

“Because if he’s your friend, he might like to do one.”

Chris laughed nervously. “He might, sure.”

“Will you bring me with you if you go? Me and Hrothgar know all the good songs.”

“Do you? Well, if ever I have a sleepover with Zach, I’ll be sure to consider it.”

Teddy beamed up at him as Chris gave him one more kiss on the forehead. He got up to leave the room, grabbing his wallet and keys from the dresser, and left the door ajar and the Mr. Clown lamp on low. 

Katie was channel surfing in the living room when he walked through. “Can you do stories? Only avoid the Star Wars one no matter if he begs, all right? Darth Vader gives him nightmares.”

“Will do. Have a good shift, ok?”

He rolled his eyes. Some day, he imagined, he'd be spending his evenings studying lines and not mixing up brain aneurysms and other drinks with borderline tasteless names, but that day was not today. 

“And give that date some serious thought ok? You need someone.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, putting on his leather jacket. “Your sudden interest in my love life doesn’t have anything to do with that guy John you’re currently dating does it?”

“His name is Joe, and no, it doesn’t.”

Chris cocked his head to the side and gave her a look. 

“OK, maybe it does. I just want to see you happy, Chrissy.”

“I am happy,” he said with a smile and left.

\----

Chris sat slumped down in the chair, facing stage left, working on his scene from _Long Day’s Journey_ with Patrick. It was going well, the words were flowing out of him, and he knew he embodied, very convincingly, the frail, consumptive Edmund Tyrone to a T. He delivered a line and rose from his chair as indicated in the script. When he turned to face Patrick, who had moved downstage, he noticed that Zach had arrived. He stood just inside the door, clearly not wanting to interrupt them, watching with interest. Chris did a double take as he noted the intense look of concentration and focus on Zach’s face; his eyes caught Chris’s and he suddenly knew why the term “hypnotic gaze” was such a cliché. 

His heart leapt in his chest and he stammered his next line. Patrick paused, blinking, and suddenly he was no longer Jamie, he’d fallen out of character.

“What?” Chris asked him when he noticed the look of mild annoyance on Patrick’s face. 

“That was my line.”

“Oh.” He glanced over at Zach, who remained where he was, though he was now massaging the back of his neck with his left hand. “Was it?”

“Yeah? Jesus, Pine, if you can’t concentrate, we’ll never get this.”

“I can, I can.”

“I’m sorry, did I throw you off?” Zach called. He walked toward them. “I tried to be quiet.” His eyes were wide, apologetic as he took a seat on the purple couch.

“No, it’s OK, it wasn’t you,” Chris assured him. He closed his eyes and rolled his head around on his shoulders a bit, trying to find his concentration. “Can we take it from the top?” he said to Patrick.

_BANG_

Chris literally jumped when the door slammed open and Babar and Reid came in, bringing an air of excitement with them.

“What the hell now?” Patrick muttered.

The two newcomers were carrying a very large, flat object between them. It was wrapped in a thick layer of bubble wrap, and from what Chris could tell from the size, it was either a large sign or a ping pong table.

“You guys, you have to see,” Reid said excitedly. He and Babar brought the thing up to the stage, to lay it flat there. 

“What is it?” Patrick asked, his annoyance forgotten.

“Babar’s mom got a sign made for us.”

“What? Why?” Zach asked. 

Chris knelt down on the stage to help Babar pull off the packing tape. There was an air of excitement in the group, not unlike Christmas morning. 

“She said we needed branding,” Babar replied. “And if what we’re doing here was going to be legit, a sign would do the trick.”

“She already paid for the stage,” Chris said, trying to rip through the tape, but it was tough stuff. Zach pulled a pocket knife from somewhere and handed it to him; the unpacking went a lot quicker after that.

“Never underestimate my mother’s drive to piss my father off.”

“Why would she do that?”

“He doesn’t want me to be an actor, he wants me to be an accountant.”

“Isn’t he an actor?”

“Yes, and so was his father before him, but he never wanted me to follow him into the family business. He says it’s undignified.”

“And accounting is?”

Babar shrugged as Chris managed to wrest the last vestiges of the bubble wrap and tape from the sign. Inside, a thin sheet of soft polystyrene wrapped was around it like wrapping paper. Chris pulled it back and Babar turned it over onto its edge to display it properly.

The sign, though lightweight, was constructed of a material meant to look as if it was a wooden packing crate; Chris could see the texture of knots and rough wood grain. The letters printed on it were stylized to appear as if they’d been spray painted on using a stencil. 

“Grimy Corps Playhouse,” Patrick said. “Man, that is so cool.”

“Yeah,” Reid and Babar agreed, voices hushed with awe. 

Chris walked around to get a better look, but his initial smile quickly faded. “Guys, it says Grimy _Corp_ Playhouse. There’s a typo; Corps is spelled wrong, the S is missing.”

Everyone frowned as they looked from Chris to the sign again.

“Damn.” Zach said.

“But, like, it’s so good!” Patrick said.

“It’s spelled wrong,” Chris insisted.

“We can’t send it back,” Babar pointed out. “It’s already paid for.”

“Not to mention she totally didn't have to do this,” Patrick pointed out. 

They stood silently staring at the thing for another minute. 

“But like, how married are we to the name anyway?” Zach asked.

“What do you mean?” said Reid.

“I mean, do we really care if we’re Grimy _Corps_ or Grimy _Corp_? What difference does it really make?”

“Well, I mean ‘corps’ literally means a troupe, and that’s what we are, a troupe of actors,” Chris pointed out. “And now we're calling ourselves a corporation? Does no one think that sounds like selling out?” He blinked rapidly as he looked at each of them in turn.

“Nope,” Reid said.

“Nah,” said Babar.

“Meh,” Zach shrugged.

“Fucking English majors,” Patrick muttered, shaking his head.

“OK then.”

“Where should we hang it?” Babar asked excitedly.

Chris’s eyes met Zach’s as the other three men headed off to figure where to hang the thing, discussing loudly whether they ought to mount it on the wall or suspend it from the ceiling.

“Are you really bothered by it? Maybe Babar’s mom can still get her money back,” Zach said.

“I guess not really,” Chris said. It was the lack of appreciation for the language that bothered him more than anything. 

“I really had fun the other day,” Zach said, sidling up to him and keeping his voice low.

Chris felt like his face might split open from the grin Zach’s voice forced out of him. “Me too. Yeah. Yeah.” He literally had to suppress a joyful giggle, which made him laugh anyway. Zach must have thought he was disturbed, but he didn't really care. It had been a long time—years—since he’d felt this way about anyone.

“We should plan our first official date, then,” Zach said. “I’ve got Fridays off.”

“I don’t. How about Saturday, though?”

“I’ve got to work.” Zach was also a waiter, at some trendy spot downtown. “Sunday?”

“I work brunch at Palmer House,” Chris said, referring to the inn where he was a food server. “I get off at 3:00?”

“Perfect. Why don’t I pick you up there?”

“OK. What should we do?”

A smile curled Zach’s lips up, and his eyes literally twinkled. “Oh no, I’ll plan everything.”

It sounded pretty cool to Chris, and honestly, given his schedule, he’d be shit at planning anything other than dinner himself. “That’d be cool.”

“See you Sunday at 3:00 then.”

\----

Chris changed hastily out of his waiter uniform of ill-fitting black chinos that never fit his ass right, white button-down, and polyester blend vest that pulled too tightly across his chest and into his favorite jeans, boots, and a blue sweater Katie assured him made his eyes pop. Zach would tell him nothing about what they were doing other than that he ought to dress casually. When he left the restaurant, the parking lot was nearly empty since the restaurant was closed until dinner service, so it was easy to find Zach. He was parked across from the main entrance, leaning back against his car with his arms crossed, reminding Chris of the kid at the end of _Sixteen Candles_ , except instead of a sweet Porsche, he drove a beat-up Honda Civic hatchback. Chris still thought it was hot.

“Hey,” Chris said, slinging his gym duffel over his shoulder.

“Hey yourself,” Zach replied, smiling wide as his eyes traveled up and down Chris’s body in appreciation. Score one for Katie and her sartorial recommendations. “Should we go?”

“Sure.” Chris threw his bag into the back seat and got into the car. Zach smiled at him for a moment, an odd expression on his face before he started the car. “What?” 

“Nothing, I just… you’re going to think I’m weird, but I haven’t been on a proper date in a while.”

Chris felt a momentary stab of relief. “Same here.”

“I mean, usually, I just hook up with guys I meet at the bar, you know what I mean?”

 _Ah,_ Chris thought. “Yep. Sure.” Actually, he didn't, but he would die before he’d let Zach know about his now apparent lack of experience at casual sexual relations.

“But I dunno, there’s something telling me this’ll be fun.” He shifted the car into first and pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Where’re we going?”

“You’’ll probably think I’m a loser, but I thought we’d head to the Santa Monica Pier.” 

He sounded nervous about it, and Chris tried not to sound too judgy. “Oh?”

Zach’s face fell. “You think it’s corny.”

“No. I don’t.”

“You do, oh God, it’s a bad idea isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. I just haven’t been there since I was in high school is all.”

“Really? Is it totally dorky?”

“No! It’s just… kinda for families. And, like, a little far. That’s all.”

“You wanna go somewhere else? We can just keep it local, catch a movie or something?”

“No—you made a plan, let’s stick to it. It’ll be fun.”

“Cool, because I’ve lived out here for like three years and I still haven’t been.”

“Well, that settles it, we have to go.”

\----

“So what do you want to do?” Zach asked. They’d parked the car and were strolling through the parking lot toward the pier, close enough their elbows bumped occasionally.

“I think I should be asking you that,” Chris replied, “being the pier virgin and all.”

“Full disclosure: That’s the only part of me that’s a virgin,” Zach said with a laugh, and Chris joined him. “You’re the seasoned pro, though—what do you recommend?”

Chris gave it a moment’s thought. “No visit to the pier’s complete without going to Pacific Park. I mean, if you want we could see if the trapeze place is open, but I dunno if you’re ready for that, being a virgin and all.”

Zach smiled charmingly. “Lead on!”

They made their way to that end of the pier, talking easily. “Wow, the place isn’t as crowded as I expected,” Zach commented.

“Well, I guess it’s a school night,” Chris pointed out. It was now after four o’clock on a Sunday, so he reasoned most families would be at home contemplating dinner.

“Good point. Man, I’m glad it isn’t one I have to think much about. I can’t imagine me ever having kids.”

Chris managed not to freeze up completely. “Oh?”

“The little rugrats are cute enough, I suppose, as long as they’re someone else’s. I don’t really see myself as a parent.”

Chris swallowed. “Like, ever?”

“Never say never, right? But not with the lifestyle I currently lead. I mean, I want to be a success as an actor. I don’t know why I’d want a kid tying me down.”

“Yeah, um… I guess I can see what you mean,” Chris said, brows furrowed. 

They strolled along the midway, playing each game at least once. It was fun, and soon Chris found if he ignored what Zach said about children he could almost forget about it. Soon enough, he was swept up in the sheer, childish fun of the place. 

They stopped at the Whack-a-Mole stand, one of the games Chris had absolutely loved as a small child. He thought he was going to die laughing watching Zach’s utter concentration while playing, as if each missed mole was a personal failing. “You do realize the target age for this thing is about nine?”

“I have to hit them all,” Zach responded in a borderline obsessive tone of voice. Then he grinned and missed three in a row.

The last place they hit was the ring toss, where large and impressive stuffed animals were available for the winning. The catch, of course, was that a player had to get three rings completely around three bottles in order to win, and the bottles were perhaps too close together and the rings too large to allow it all that often. 

When Zach had spent nearly twenty dollars trying to win one for him, Chris pulled at his sleeve. “Come on, man, don’t spend your money on this crap.”

“But you want the green one,” Zach pointed at the stuffed animal in question.

“I do want the green one, but is it worth all this?”

“I will have you know I possess superior hand-eye coordination, and I am determined to impress you by spending an overlarge sum in order to secure you, my date, the prize of your choice.”

“Even though you’ve spent about twice what the thing is probably worth?” Chris glanced at the concession’s worker, a young woman with multiple tattoos on her arms and a hot pink Mohawk. “How much _are_ those things worth?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t say really—they come in huge plastic bags all squished up together though, if it helps.”

That did nothing to convince Chris of their monetary value, but he didn't like the idea of Zach spending so much. 

Zach grinned. “It’s what makes me an alpha male.”

“It’s what makes them all the alpha male,” the girl pointed out knowingly.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Chris said to her; she smiled back sweetly. Chris wondered if she worked on commission. “I am surprised at this competitive streak in you.”

Zach cocked his head to the side. “Are you really?”

“I suppose not,” Chris admitted. They both laughed. 

Five dollars later, Zach finally managed to land three rings—helped a little, Chris would swear, by the young woman’s finally taking pity on his frustrated moans every time he missed and nudging the last one over a quarter of an inch.

“We have a winnaaaahhh!” she shouted joyfully, and walked over to retrieve the stuffed animal Chris had said he wanted. 

“Aww, you got your brontosaurus,” Zach said, his smile transforming his face. 

Chris’s grin was just as wide. “You got it for me,” he pointed out. Zach ran his hand over the thing, his warm fingertips brushing lightly over the back of Chris’s. Chris’s heart rate soared at the touch, and he could feel his face warming as he babbled nervously. “Though it’s not a brontosaurus, actually, it’s a brachiosaurus. You can tell by the large bony arch over his snout here.” He touched the lump on the thing’s head. “Also, their front legs are longer than the back ones.”

“OK,” Zach laughed and started walking.

Chris couldn’t stop yammering as he fell into step next to him. “And actually, there’s no such thing as a brontosaurus, they were misnamed or something. They’re all really apatosauruses. Apatosauri? Anyway, there’s no such thing.”

“You sure are passionate about your dinosaurs. How is it that you know so much?”

Chris bit his lip. _Why, my three-and-a-half year old son is quite the aficionado!_ he definitely did not say. 

“The late Jurassic’s my jam, man,” Chris finished lamely, and bit his lip. 

Zach looked confused, but then smiled and Chris could feel his knees turn to jelly for a moment. Zach had one of the nicest smiles Chris had ever seen, one that scrunched up his nose and showed all his teeth, and made Chris desperate to find ways to make it happen again. “Wanna go on the Ferris wheel?” he gasped out, because he had forgotten to breathe.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the low-hanging clouds shades of pink and orange, by the time they got on the ride. Chris stuffed the brachiosaur between them, but Zach picked it up and turned it around. “He should get to enjoy the ride too, don’t you think?” he asked.

Chris smiled as the ride attendant settled the safety bar over their laps. Their car moved up several feet and left them swaying gently as another group of people were loaded in on the car behind them. 

“Haven’t been on a Ferris wheel in years,” Chris commented.

“Neither have I. this one’s so cool, though, so iconic.”

“You can see it for miles up the coast, or so I’ve heard.”

“You never checked it out?”

“Never really thought about it.”

The ride started up a moment later, and Chris’s attention was caught by the view as they climbed. “Hoo boy,” he said as his stomach dipped and flipped when their car descended.

“Are you afraid of heights? Don’t worry, I’ll save you.”

“Nah, I just forgot about that rush you get when the car goes over the top. Better than a roller coaster.”

“Much less impact, that’s for sure,” Zach said ruefully.

“Don’t you like roller coasters?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“Love ‘em, can’t get enough. The one here is pretty cool—it goes all the way around the park. It’s pretty tame if you want to give it a shot.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you,” Chris replied with a smile.

Two more times they went around, and were then left suspended at the top as the ride discharged customers and took on new ones. This was always Chris’s favorite part when he was a kid, because he could get a really good look at the view and because it was so quiet, removed from the noise and hubbub of the midway below. “God, it’s great up here, especially tonight. You can see for _forever_ ” He leaned forward in his seat, as if he could see more of it by getting that much closer.

“Beautiful,” Zach agreed, his voice close to Chris’s ear. 

Chris turned his head as he sat back, and there was Zach, leaning in. “You’re not really looking out at it, though,” Chris pointed out.

“I know a great view when I see one,” Zach replied, and then his fingertips were touching Chris’s jaw, tilting his face closer, and then they were kissing. Zach’s lips were warm, the kiss soft and tentative.

“Oh,” Chris said in a delayed reaction to Zach’s words. There was a buzzing in his ears as Zach’s hand moved up to cup his cheek and kiss him again. 

The ride jolted as it moved to load in more passengers, and Chris gasped, surprised. 

“Did I make the earth move for you, baby?” Zach joked.

Chris laughed and twisted around to face him better, dropping a hand to rest on the inside of Zach’s knee. This time he opened his mouth, inviting the soft explorations of Zach’s tongue. Zach turned as well, trying to get closer, but his other was hindered by the presence of the dinosaur.

They pulled apart. “Cock blocked by a stuffed animal,” Zach said with mock bitterness, his voice low but so loud in the close space between them.

“Maybe he’s too young to see this,” Chris joked, covering the dinosaur’s black plastic eyes with a hand as he leaned in to kiss Zach again, who laughed as their lips met. A moment later, the ride started again and they had to get off. 

The rest of the date was a kind of blur of cotton candy and hot dogs, with soft kisses stolen as they passed behind stands where no one could see. They walked to the parking lot, each of them holding on to one of the brachiosaur’s forelimbs, dangling it between them in a silly semblance of a family that Chris chose to ignore.

\----

“You’re home,” Katie said, looking surprised as she sat up on the couch and muted the TV. 

“I’m home,” Chris agreed. 

“How’d it go? It’s kind of early.”

“The park closed at nine.”

“Park?”

“He took me to Pacific Park.”

“D’aww, did he win you a great big stuffed animal?”

Chris pulled the brachiosaur from behind his back and tossed it at her. She squealed with delight as he went to the kitchen and retrieved a couple of beers.

“Tell me more!” Katie insisted, pulling the throw blanket aside she’d been snuggled up under so he could sit at the opposite end of the couch. “Was he gallant? Did he open doors for you?”

“Shut up! He was nice, it was nice,” Chris said, his voice sounding more tentative than he’d intended.

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

“No, it was. He picked me up at work, we drove down there, had the usual first date small talk about college majors and favorite films.”

“What’s his favorite film?”

Chris looked up at the ceiling. “A Woman Under the Influence.”

“Ooooo,” she said, poking his leg with her foot. “That’s yours toooooo.” She made additional hooting noises into her beer bottle.

“And then we walked around some,” he said, talking over her, “and he spent like thirty bucks to win me that thing.” He indicated the brachiosaur, which Katie had been hugging against her side.

She pulled it out and regarded it seriously. “He’s gonna need a special name, this one. What about Zachary?”

“No! Not Zachary. I am begging you.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Then what happened?”

“Oh, you mean the part where he said he never wants any kids, or the part where he kissed me?”

Katie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head, an effect Chris would pause to enjoy if he didn’t feel simultaneously torn up and buzzy about his date with Zach. The kiss on the Ferris wheel had been one of the best in his lifetime, but the fact Zach didn’t seem to have room in his life for a person with a child was a deal breaker. “Um…” she began, but didn’t seem to have any words.

“Yeah.”

They sipped their beer in silence.

“What did he say, exactly?”

Chris told her.

“Why would he say that when he knows you have a son?” Chris couldn’t look at her. “What?”

“I maaaaay have never told him or any of the guys about Teddy…”

“What?!” She picked up the stuffed brachiosaur and began hitting him with it, “Chris-to- _PHER_!!" the thing’s head whipped at him with each syllable. "That’s a pretty big factor to leave out of the equation!”

“I know, I know! Don’t you think I know?” He stood up and started pacing around their tiny living room. “But do you know what happens when you tell someone you have a kid at my age? They do the math, that’s what happens! And then they judge you. What kind of guy knocks his girlfriend up at 18? Either they think you’re an asshole, or they think you’re some kind of player and want to high five you, and believe me, it’s just easier to say nothing. And don’t get me started on what casting agents think.” When he looked at her, her eyes were wide but inscrutable. “And now you’re judging me too.”

“I’m not, Chrissy, really.” She held her arms out, beckoning him, and he returned to the couch with his head bowed. He sat curled up against her side, head resting on her shoulder like they used to do when they were kids. “I know it’s hard, and I pushed you into this. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been kicking myself for not ever saying anything.” He sighed as she fussed over him, pushing his hair out of his face and rubbing his arm. “But he said he never wanted kids, like right off the bat practically, and I just froze. And when he drove me back to my car, and I saw the child seat in the back, I felt like an even bigger douchebag.”

“Shh, it’s OK,” she said, holding him tight for a few minutes. His big sis, always protecting him, always trying to make things better.

“Things would have just been so much easier if Desi hadn't died, you know?” Chris said quietly after a while. 

“I know, honey,” she said, kissing him on top of his head. “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach is smitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating
> 
>  
> 
> _waggles eyebrows_

Zach lay in bed with his head pillowed on his hands, staring at the ceiling. He replayed his date with Chris over and over in his mind, recalling snippets of conversation with a stupid grin on his face. Was taking Chris to the pier a corny way to spend an evening? Sure, but he was positive it had gone over super well. Because honestly, what better way to get past the initial awkwardness of a first date than by going somewhere where you had to do something? The midway games had been fun, and had the added bonus of giving him something to do with his hands. And even he couldn't believe how much money he'd spent to win Chris that stupid brontosaurus—no, _brachiosaurus_ —but it had been worth the smile it had gotten. 

And the Ferris wheel!

Zach had never been fond of heights, but the look of wonder on Chris's face as he stared out over the ocean had been worth a moment’s stomach-dropping terror every time they came over the top. The memory of that first kiss—Zach touched his fingertips to his mouth remembering the pressure of pillow soft lips on his and sighed. He still couldn't believe how right it felt, how good. Not just “good” in the sense that it was pleasurable, but good in that Zach was overcome by thoughts of how well-suited they were to each other. Already he was planning their next date, their one year anniversary dinner, naming their dogs.

God, what a fucking sap he was.

 _“Hey balloons!_ he recalled himself saying on their way out of the park; there had been a vendor wandering the midway carrying a bunch of what looked like 50 balloons emblazoned with the Pacific Park logo. _“You want one?”_

_Chris had laughed and demurred, reaching for Zach's hand. “I don't need a balloon, balloons are fleeting.” He leaned in, lips mere inches from Zach's. “You've already given me something so much more special.”_

_Zach’s breath caught in his throat. “Yeah?”_

_“A totally sweet brachiosaurus! I'm totally keeping it on my bed with all the other stuffed animals my boyfriends have won me.”_

_Zach pretended not to be thrilled to be referred to as his boyfriend, even in a joking context, and kept walking toward the exit._

In the shelter of his bed he could barely control laughing out loud at the memory, and turned over onto his stomach, bunching the pillow up under his arms before burying his face in it. 

He hadn’t felt like buying someone a balloon in a decade. He felt like he was 15 again. He felt like a man. It’d been a while—a long, long while—since someone made him feel like this. And this time—not like what happened with his professor in college—this time, the guy appeared to feel the same way about him.

He sighed again, closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep; it was already well past midnight and he hoped Chris had had as good a time as he. Sure, he'd been quiet at times, but that was to be expected right? Things were different between them now, their status had changed, from friends to… more than friends. 

Zach was drifting off to sleep when he realized with a shock that he hadn't even thought about sex with Chris all evening, not once. All he wanted to do was kiss him and hold his hand and stare at that goddamn adorable mole on his jaw. What was wrong with him? But no matter how hard he tried, he was incapable of picturing Chris in any kind of compromising position. It wasn't right or something—disrespectful, maybe. This was not _wham bam thank you, man_ , Chris was to be wooed, he mattered. Zach could really fall for this guy. 

Zach was falling for this guy. 

He sighed and turned onto his side, staring out the window at the bougainvillea that grew up the side of Joe’s house. He didn’t fall asleep until close to 3:00, but he couldn’t be bothered to mind all that much.

\----

“Look who's finally up,” Joe said, ruffling Zach's hair as he passed. He’d just come in from a run, if the sweatiness and sneakers were any indication.

Zach had been sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of Froot Loops. He pulled away from his brother, annoyed, and rearranged his bangs artfully across his forehead again. “What, I can't sleep in every once in a while?”

“Sure you can, but you were home before 11:00 last night. Did your date not go well?”

“It went fine. Great, in fact.” 

Joe raised his eyebrows and mugged a disbelieving look at him. “Really? Usually when you hook up with one of your fuck toys you’re out a lot later.” He turned to get the carton of juice from the fridge.

Zach rolled his eyes. “They're fuck _boys_ , Joseph. Calling them toys is dehumanizing.”

Joe laughed and handed him a glass of juice. 

“And maybe this one's a little more than a quickie hookup from the restaurant,” Zach added. 

Joe, who'd turned his back to go through the mail, looked at him with mock shock and struck a pose with his hand in the air. “What? Do tell li'l bro. Whither the fair Christopher? Has he proven worthy of thy notice?”

“Stop trying to act Shakespearean, all right, it doesn't work for you. And yes, if you must know, he has. I really like him.”

“Oh? I would never have known. You only talk about him constantly.”

“Shut up, I do not.”

“ _Oh Chris, he's just so talented! And smart and dreeeamyy!_ ” Joe said in a high pitched voice, head cocked to the side and blinking extravagantly. 

“I fucking hate you right now. Anyway, you’re one to talk. What about this Kristy woman you keep seeing? When am I going to meet her?”

“Her name is Katie, and if I have anything to say about it, never. You'd scare her away for sure. I mean, if she got one good look at you, she’ll never want to jump into this gene pool.” 

Zach choked on his juice. “You're talking about _kids_? You?!”

Joe's face turned beet red. “We aren't.” Zach scoffed. “We're _not_ , I was just making a joke at your expense.”

“A bad one. But are you thinking about it? Has my big brother finally grown up? Huh? Huh? Huh?”

“Shut up and take a shower, Zachary John. That squirrel on your head you call a haircut's beginning to look a little raggedy,” Joe said before leaving the room, pausing to mess up Zach’s hair again. 

\----

Zach spent the rest of the morning running mundane errands as he wrestled with himself over whether or not to call Chris. Conventional wisdom dictated he play it cool, wait a day or more, and call him finally, all casual, and try to gauge whether or not a second date was likely based on subtle variables such as Chris’s tone of voice and apparent mood but never—god, never, ever—by actually asking him about it. This was the law of men.

But Zach felt far from cool about this. He felt anxiety and excitement in equal parts, each warring with the other for prominence in his mind. Within any given minute he felt happy and confident that all had gone well, and the next he'd fall into the depths of despair over thoughts that Chris didn't like him anymore or, worse, that someone else would take Chris away. The fear and possessiveness he felt at that was irrational, he knew, but at least it kept him from worrying that he was somehow doing this all wrong. 

Zach had never been in a serious relationship, certainly not in high school where he was completely closeted, but not even in college where he could finally be himself. At college he was more focused on dealing with being out to begin with, at least to his friends, and learning his craft. Along the way he'd somehow skipped the part where he learned how to be with someone. 

Not that he didn't get his fair share of dick, it was just that none of the people he’d been with had affected him enough or broken through or whatever. Until now. 

And it scared the hell out of him to let himself think about how much he wanted this.

Once his errands had been taken care of, he headed over to Grimy Corp to hang out until he had to work his shift at the restaurant that night. 

“Has Chris been by?” he asked as casually as he could muster. He was once more sweeping the floor, though it was more out of a need to keep his hands and mind occupied. Or something. But if Chris was going to be here, then it absolved Zach from having to figure out when to call him.

“It's Monday,” Patrick said as if that was an answer. 

It was: Chris never came by on Mondays because it was his day off and he always said he had stuff to do at home. Zach had heard him mention helping his mom out around her house a couple weeks back, so he imagined him spending these days being a good son or something. It made him miss his own mother back in Pittsburgh. 

“Oh yeah that's right,” he muttered, disappointed. “He ever say what he was up to?” Smooth.

Patrick shrugged. “Not really. You know how closed-lipped he can be.” 

Zach didn't think so, not with him anyway. They talked about all kinds of things, from long term career goals to dream roles to what they would get if they could ever afford a brand new car. “What are you working on?” Patrick had had his face buried in a book since Zach arrived, but didn’t seem to really be turning any pages. 

“What? Oh, it's this scene from _Long Day’s Journey_ I'm supposed to be doing with Chris. I'm just not feeling it.”

Zach put the broom away and went to sit on the arm of the couch, feet resting on the cushion. “Let's talk it through then.”

It was just the diversion he needed. He spent the rest of the afternoon working with Patrick until he felt confident in the way he was portraying the character, and then Zach had to leave for his shift at the restaurant.

\----

_“Hi, this is Chris, you know what to do.”_

_BEEEP_

“Oh, hi. Hey. It’s me, it’s Zach. I guess you’re not… able to come to the phone. That’s cool. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow or whatever. Later. Bye. Bye. Goodbye.”

\----

_“Hi, this is Chris, you know what to do.”_

_BEEEP_

“Ha-ha, yeah, it’s Zach again. I wanted to, um, just. Say. I had a great time with you last night and if you wanted to hang out again sometime soon, then I’d be into it. 

Or, you know, not. I’m assuming you had a good time, because, you know. But like, if you didn't, that’s OK. I mean, it’s not OK, because, like, it means I’ve failed at planning a date, so if that’s the case, I hope you can give me a chance to make it up to you. Because I’m kind of a perfectionist that way, ha-ha, and I really want to get it right, you know? Just give me a chance to—

_BEEEEP_

\----

_“Hi, this is Chris, you know what to do.”_

_BEEEP_

“It’s me again. Zach. You should ignore that last message. I think I took too much cold medicine. See you, um, later. Soon. It’s Zach, by the way. Bye.”

\----

_RIIIIIIIING_

“Hello?”

“Are you sick?”

“Chris?”

“Are you sick? Do you need anything?”

Zach glanced at the time on his cell phone: 12:14 am and he had just gotten off work. Well, he’d gotten off work at the restaurant at 11:00, and he’d spent the time since with the other two bartenders and the line cooks at an after-hours joint in Silver Lake. He jumped off the barstool he was perched on and moved away from the hubbub surrounding the dart board. “What?” 

“You’re sick? Do you need anything?”

Zach flashed back to the disastrous set of messages he’d left for Chris earlier that evening and winced. He’d convinced himself that Chris was already out on a date with some other guy, so in a fit of desperation he’d decided there was no time like the present to give him a call. And, well, there was a reason he always sucked at improv. 

But Chris was _concerned_. “I—no, I’m fine, just a touch of allergies or something, I guess.” He sniffed to punctuate.

“Oh, OK.” He sounded legitimately relieved and Zach’s heart leapt just a little. “I did have a good time, you know. You seemed, um, concerned.”

“Oh yeah?” Zach thought it an appropriate time to fist-pump.

“I did, I really did. And thank you again for winning that stuffed animal for me, it was really nice. He's cute, he reminds me of you.”

“Is it the strong brow?”

“Ha-ha, yeah. We still haven't figured out a name for him yet.”

“We?” There was a pause. Did Zach sound too possessive? He wasn't that kind of boyfriend, at least he didn't think so. Was he?

“I told you, I live with my sister?”

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Zach should not feel so relieved to hear this, he really shouldn’t. He stepped aside so a couple could leave the bar, huddling under a buzzing streetlamp.

Chris went on, “Anyway, she's the one who's good at naming things. She had these two pet rats in college called Lenny and Squiggy.” 

Zach frowned. _Rats?_

“They were surprisingly cute.”

“Maybe you should call him Saul the Sauropod.”

“Ha! That'd be perfect.” They shared a laugh. “How do you know about dinosaurs all of a sudden?”

“I may have read up a little,” Zach said as smoothly as he could manage. If by 'a little' it meant sitting in the kids’ section at Barnes and Noble poring over _National Geographic’s Big Book o’ Dinosaurs_ for two hours earlier in the day, then he wasn't lying. 

“Oh hey, I just realized the time. Sorry it’s so late.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was out with some friends from work. It’s, um, Amy’s birthday.” There was no Amy. In fact, no one’s birthday was being celebrated, but Zach wanted Chris to know this social engagement did not involve anything romantic in the least.

“So I guess I’ll see you at the Corp tomorrow?”

“Yeah, probably.” It took nearly all of Zach's training in breath control to keep from allowing his excitement to bleed through into his voice. 

“Cool. I should be there around noon.”

“Sounds great. I'll bring the coffee.”

\----

Zach timed his arrival at the old factory for exactly 12:01. “Hey, you’re here already?” he said casually.

Chris looked up from the book he was reading, and Zach was unprepared for the sight of him in glasses; he nearly dropped the tray with the coffees from LAMILL in it as he jockeyed the door.

“Want some help?” Chris jogged over and took the tray from Zach, along with the bag of food he’d bought. He eyed it with interest.

“I didn't know if you'd get lunch or not, so...' He smiled at Chris, who smiled back. “We here alone?”

“Yeah, Babar just left and I think Reid and Patrick are working.”

“I got you a latte, hope that's ok?”

“It's perfect.”

They crossed over to the couches and sat on either end of the purple couch. Zach pulled his legs up and sat sideways, then laid the food out between them on the cushion.

“It’s like a little picnic,” Chris observed; he sipped his coffee appreciatively. The bit of foam on his upper lip was not at all distracting.

“I got a ham and cheese croissant and this turkey with cranberry mayo wrap thing. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I mean, what’s not to like about turkey and ham? If you want we can split ‘em?”

“Great. What’s this?” Chris held up something in a waxed paper sleeve.

“Oh, it’s one of these cookie things they have there—they’re insanely good.”

Chris’s eyes lit up and Zach filed it away—clearly sweets were a way into his stomach if not his heart. They shared the food out and ate out of the wrappers for a bit in companionable silence. 

“So what are you up to?” Zach asked, to break the ice.

“Nothing much. My agent put me up for this movie, but I’m sure it’ll come to nothing like all the others.”

“Oh? What movie?”

Chris shrugged. “Some Disney thing, I have no idea.”

Zach laughed. “Maybe you’ll be a prince.”

“Man, shut up!” He wadded up the wrappings from the sandwich and threw it at Zach’s head.

Zach ducked it easily. “What, come on, don’t you think you’d look good on a white steed? Swooping in to rescue the fair damsel?”

“I really, really don’t.”

“I do.”

“You would. You’re a fair damsel.”

“Yes, well… we damsels have to learn to recognize a top prince when we see one.”

“Do you?”

“Sure, it’s the first thing they cover in damsel school.” He looked at Chris appraisingly. “Tall: check. Blue eyes: check. Devilishly handsome: double-check. I’ll testify to your bona fides if you get this audition. It’ll be in the bag, trust me.”

Chris sank into the plush back of the couch, smiling up at Zach and blinking rapidly. “Do you really think I’m devilishly handsome?”

Zach twisted around so he was mirroring Chris’s position, their heads practically touching. “All the other damsels are pretty jealous of me.”

“Yeah?”

“Especially Rapunzel—she will cut a bitch to get what she wants.”

Chris inched closer to Zach. “Who knew damsels were so hardcore?”

Zach inched closer as well, growing tired of the banter. “You really need these?” he asked, touching the edge of the frames of Chris’s glasses.

“Only to see with.”

“OK then.” Zach hooked his fingers around the frames and pulled the glasses from Chris’s face, then leaned in to kiss him. 

Chris sighed into his mouth, a happy sound, as if he'd been waiting for this, and Zach’s heart surged in his chest. He turned his head to the side and pressed closer, tongue darting out to lick inside Chris's mouth when he opened it. Chris hummed as he let Zach's tongue explore, reached up and grabbed a fistful of Zach's shirt, pulling. Zach felt around the couch blindly, pushing the leftovers of their lunch to the floor as he moved in closer. He slid an arm around Chris's waist as soon as he could, and Chris slid his arms around Zach’s shoulders, wrapping them around Zach's head. They were so close Zach was positive he could feel Chris’s heart beating in his chest, though it could have been his.

Before Zach knew it, they fell back into the couch, Zach on top of Chris. As they settled, Chris opened his legs, and Zach’s pelvis slotted in atop his, notching together so comfortably it was like they were puzzle pieces that fit. Zach kissed down Chris’s jaw and throat, the skin alternately smooth and stubbled, as if he hadn't shaved quite so carefully that morning. He could feel the thrum of Chris’s pulse beneath his lips and couldn’t resist having a taste. Chris jumped as Zach’s tongue swept his skin, and shivered, his thighs coming up as he squirmed reflexively, bringing them that much closer together. Zach felt the combined heat of their groins and the unmistakable pressure of Chris’s hardening dick against his body. He couldn’t resist licking Chris again—how could he resist?

“Stop, I’m ticklish there,” Chris gasped.

“Why would I? It’s like riding a rodeo horse or something,” Zach replied, though he did give it a rest when Chris craned his head up to catch his lips in another kiss. 

Soon Zach was kissing his way down the other side of Chris’s face, toward his ear, where he planted his softest kisses. “God you’re so hot,” Zach murmured into his ear in low tones. “Do you know what you do to me?”

Chris canted his hips up, and the pressure of both their now-obvious erections against each other was deliciously maddening. “I think I do.”

Zach looked down at Chris; his face and neck were flushed a bright red, a stark contrast to the impossible blue of those eyes. His mouth too was reddened from kissing, plumped-up and shining with saliva; edible-looking. Zach smiled, feeling a little giddy. “I want to see you, your body. Can I take your shirt off?” 

Chris looked at the ceiling, then back at Zach. “I guess? Sure.” 

Zach sat up for a moment and helped Chris off with his t-shirt. He was lean, his chest well-muscled, with patches of fine hair the same golden color as the hair on his arms. His skin was pale, with dark freckles or moles forming unknowable constellations, his belly was flat and toned. Zach couldn’t resist resting a palm on his chest; the skin was warm, soft, his heartbeat strong. 

“Now you,” Chris said, plucking at the hem of the button-down Zach wore. Zach fumbled with the tiny buttons—cursing whatever whim made him wear it today, but at last he got it off. He was watching Chris’s face as he finally shed it, saw his eyes widen with what Zach hoped was satisfaction, and tried not to suck his gut in—not that he had one to suck in, not really. 

“Nice,” Chris said with a smile, reaching for Zach’s chest. Zach shivered as his fingers caught in the thick hair and closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the sensations. Chris thumbed his nipple, then squeezed it lightly; Zach arched into it, gasping. “Come here, I wanna kiss you some more.”

Zach tossed the shirt onto the floor and fit himself on top of Chris once more. The feeling of skin on skin was nearly intoxicating, warm and jumpy at the same time; new. Zach could barely keep his hands in one place as he explored the long planes of Chris’s sides, the fine hairs of his chest, the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders. Chris’s response to nearly every touch was different, whether he twitched away if tickled, or sighed when it felt good, or kissed Zach more enthusiastically if it felt really good. Zach thought he could spend the rest of his life learning the different ways to make Chris respond, but he didn’t have that long, and there were other ideas floating around in his head.

He kissed a trail down Chris’s throat again and to his breastbone, pausing to swirl his tongue around each nipple once or twice. “God!” Chris gasped, his voice breathy and barely audible as his back arced off the couch. Zach sensed it when his hands flew up, as if Chris wanted to encourage, but he never touched, just let his hands fall to his sides. Zach went on his way, too eager to reach his intended target now to spend much more time there, though he filed the information away for another time.

Zach slithered down Chris’s body, finally pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his belly, the light trail of hair that disappeared past the waistband of his underwear, just visible above the top of the loose-fitting cargo pants he wore. Zach sat back on his heels, hands hovering above Chris, and looked up at him once more. His eyes regarded him, half-lidded, his head held at a weird angle against the arm of the couch, his hair a mess where it had been making repeated contact. His face was suffused with a dark pink flush, one that spread down his neck and shoulders to his chest. Everything about him signaled extreme arousal, not least of all his dick, a thick column visible through his pants, lying along his thigh, but Zach still looked up at him as if asking for a go-ahead. Chris licked his lips, as Zach had seen him do a thousand times and more, but there was want behind that gesture, and need. He closed his eyes as Zach reached for the fastenings of his pants, twisted his head back as far as the couch arm would allow, and sighed as Zach slid his hand inside his briefs, the sweetest sound Zach had possibly ever heard. 

Zach made quick work of pulling Chris’s pants and underwear down and off as Chris obligingly raised his ass to make it easier; he was wearing Vans, so his sneakers slid off easily. Zach dropped a knee to the floor, shifting over for easier access, and nearly gasped. Chris’s cock was perfect, long and thick, with a pronounced head, and a slight upward curve to it. His balls were large as well, well-proportioned, and nestled in a thatch of dark golden hair that was surprisingly coarse. When Zach took his dick in hand once more, Chris’s breath caught in his throat, and when Zach’s mouth slid over the head, his entire body tensed. 

“Zach.” Chris rested a hand lightly on Zach’s shoulder. “Before we go any further, there's... there's something you should know.”

Zach pulled off and sat back on his heels. “Are you positive?”

“About what?”

Zach cocked his head to the side and squinted at him. It took a moment, but, "Oh— _OH_! No, I’m not HIV positive.”

“Then I think it can wait,” Zach smiled and got back to it. 

“But, but—“

“You can come in my mouth, don't worry about it.”

Zach ran the flat of his tongue up Chris’s length, from base to tip, worried the tip of his tongue around the sensitive skin under and around the head. Chris dropped his head back with a groan and Zach took him into his mouth again, teasing as many reactions out of him as he could. A tongue in his slit made him moan, an accidental touch of Zach’s teeth made him curse, and a pair of spit-slicked fingers pressing on his taint made his hips buck. 

Zach grinned around him and then focused on trying to accommodate the entire length of him, which was a challenge. Chris may have been the biggest guy Zach had been with, and the thought of it made him nearly giddy. It did things for his own dick, as it strained uncomfortably—nearly painfully—against the zipper of his jeans. He longed for relief but denied himself, wouldn’t even touch himself. He saw it as a personal challenge, to hold out. At any rate, he could feel Chris’s balls tightening, could see his abs tense. He was close, and it took Zach’s attention away from his own need.

Zach wished he could see Chris’s face when he came, but his head was at an odd angle, and he was intent on the mechanics of the blowjob anyway. Chris’s hips rose suddenly and subsided, as if he was fighting the urge to thrust. The control he was exerting was evident in the straining muscles of his abs and the low groan that came from him. Zach placed a hand on his hip, holding him down, and it seemed to help; Chris surrendered as soon as that small control was introduced. At last he came, thick ropes of it filling Zach’s mouth. As much as he wanted to swallow it all down, Zach gagged a little, some of it escaping his mouth to drip down into Chris’s bush. Zach pulled off, disappointed, and looked up at his partner. 

Chris was panting, a light sheen of sweat now coating his skin. “God,” he moaned, raising his arms weakly, making grabbing motions with his hands, reaching for Zach. 

Zach wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand and went to him. Chris scooted over on the couch to make more room, and hauled Zach closer, so that they lay together in a sprawl of arms and legs. He kissed his mouth, briefly, then spoke into his ear. “You’re amazing, do you know that?” He was still out of breath.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me take care of you too.” He made as if to rise.

“No, I don’t think I could hold out,” Zach said. His dick was throbbing in his jeans, and the slightest touch would set him off. 

“Let me at least…” Chris said nothing more as he reached down to undo Zach’s pants one-handed. He pushed them open as wide as he could and gently brought Zach’s dick out. “Mmm,” he said appreciatively. 

Being touched was nearly too much sensation, though Zach was glad to be relieved of the tightness of his jeans. He looked down to see Chris’s large hand engulfing the head of his dick, which was flushed purple and leaking. Chris jacked him a few times, flicked his thumbnail over the slit, and that was it; Zach clutched at Chris’s shoulders and barely suppressed a shout as he came harder than he had in months, shooting his load all over the two of them. Chris held his head cradled against his neck and shoulder with his other hand, petting the back of his neck and easing him through it with soft murmurs of nonsense syllables in his ear. In the end, Zach was shaking, his dick so sensitive he had to pull away. 

“Shh,” Chris said, and reached over him to the floor. He found some of the napkins from their lunch and cleaned them both off haphazardly, then relaxed back against the couch, Zach’s head still cradled against his shoulder. “Wow, that was…”

“Embarrassing,” Zach said into his clavicle.

“I was going to say intense.”

Zach smiled. Chris traced random patterns on Zach’s shoulder with his fingertip. It was soothing, and Zach could feel a kind of languor come over him. “Gosh, I sure hope you don’t think I’m a slut,” he joked.

“ _Are_ you a slut?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to think it.”

Chris laughed. “Guess I could say the same thing.”

They lay for a few more minutes, until Zach could barely keep his eyes open. His lack of sleep the last two nights was finally catching up. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was Chris shifting beneath him and resting a hand on the back of his head to snuggle him closer.

\----

When Zach woke up, he was surprised to see the shadows in Grimy Corp HQ had lengthened, meaning it was pretty late in the afternoon. He was also disappointed to realize Chris had gone, though he’d taken the time to cover Zach with his shirt. A bang outside—possibly a car door slamming—roused him even further, and the fear that one of the guys had arrived made him hurriedly fasten his still-open jeans. Boy, would that be difficult to explain. He dragged his shirt on next. Luckily, no one came in and he was able to clean himself up over by the sink and toss the rest of their lunch in the trash.

He glanced at his watch—5:03? He’d slept nearly four hours, and no wonder Chris was gone. He usually had to be on the road by 4:00, Zach presumed so he could get to work. As he looked around the couch for his shoes, he spotted a slip of paper resting on the opposite end of the couch. Picking it up, he recognized it as being from the notebook Chris was always writing in, torn from the corner of one of the pages. It was folded in half and had his name written on top.

“Zach,” it said in small, tidy letters, “Sorry to bail on you, but you crashed pretty hard and I figured you needed the sleep. Let’s do lunch again tomorrow—my treat this time, OK? I’ll call you in the morning with a place and time. Fondly, C.”

“Fondly,” Zach said aloud, staring at the word for a solid two minutes. He got up—it was time for him to get home and get showered so he wouldn’t be late for his own job. He walked to the door and pulled it open, made his way to the parking lot, got into his car and started it. 

“Fondly,” he said with a grin as he backed out of the parking space and went on his way.

\----

Lunch the next day was at a little Mexican place Zach must have driven past a hundred times but never realized was an actual restaurant. Chris said the tacos were the best, so naturally Zach got the enchiladas. Watching Chris eat was like a revelation every time—he enjoyed his food on an almost spiritual level.

“How do you like the enchiladas?” he asked Zach, licking a stray bit of sauce that was streaming down his wrist. 

Realizing he’d been caught staring, Zach took a huge bite. “They’re really good!” The salsa verde was as hot as the freaking sun and Zach took a desperate pull at his pineapple soda.

Chris grinned. “I like the raisins in the chicken filling,” he added.

“My mom puts raisins in her meatballs sometimes.” 

“Really? That’s interesting. Is she Italian? I mean, I assume so because of your name…”

“She’s not, actually, but my dad was. My grandmother taught her a lot—they were really close, even after my dad died. So much for that Italian mother-in-law stereotype.”

They ate for a few minutes more, making small talk, until Chris asked, “So did your mom ever remarry?” 

“No. I don't think anyone ever quite measured up or something. She always said my dad was the love of her life and she was lucky to have him because so many people don't ever get that.”

“Was it hard? Being a child of a single parent?”

Zach looked at Chris for a moment. His interest was genuine, his face sincere and serious, as if he cared about Zach's experience on a personal level. He was either the most empathetic person in the world or he was good at faking interest in a person’s life. And while the latter was a skill most decent actors could pull out of a hat, Zach didn’t think that was it. 

“I guess it was? But I don’t know that I had much else to compare it to. I was pretty young, and she was pretty protective. I never felt like I wanted for anything, and she never let on if any of it was a trial for her. You know how kids are, though, pretty much clueless and self-centered. I mean, not because they’re selfish, but just because there’s, like, a lack of awareness?” Chris nodded. “And like I told you, I was a pretty angry kid right after my dad died, so I don’t think there was another way for me to be. But she was great, and I never felt like I lacked for love, ever. She always had time for me and Joe. Always.”

“That’s… that’s good to hear. Interesting.” Chris looked almost relieved, or else Zach was reading him wrong. 

“I guess.”

“I mean, you’re familiar with, uh, with what it takes, right? To raise a kid.”

“Well, only in that I used to be one,” Zach said lightly, shoveling a forkful of refried beans into his face. 

“Of course. Naturally. Um…”

“Is something wrong?” 

Chris was fidgety, in a way that Zach, having known him for a few weeks now, recognized meant he was nervous. He scratched his chin and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “No, um. Not really. It’s just… there really is something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a while ago, but like—“

“You’re not into this, are you? Dating me?” Zach felt nauseous.

“No, God no! I like you a lot. Which is why I feel so bad about this, because, like, I never want to lie to you, not that I have been lying, just, you know, leaving out some pertinent facts?”

Zach didn’t like the way the conversation was going, and he was certain it showed on his face. 

“Don’t look like that, like I’m killing your dog. God, I’m sorry I brought it up like this. Maybe this’ll help.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he took a piece of stiff paper out of it, something small; it took Zach a moment to recognize it as a photograph. He slid it across the table. 

Zach leaned over, almost afraid to look at the thing, but when he saw what it was, he relaxed somewhat. It was a photo—probably taken at a department store photo studio as part of a package deal—of a small boy, perhaps two or three years of age. He had large eyes and a mop of dark curls on his head, and was dressed in a little Christmas sweater with reindeer on it, a tiny button-down collar poking out of the top of it. The outfit looked unreasonably bulky for southern California, but who was Zach to judge? The kid was super adorable. 

Zach glanced up at Chris, an expectant look on his face.

“His name is Teddy, and he’s my son.”

Zach raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the photograph, then back at Chris, then around the room as if he might be on one of those hidden camera shows.

“Teddy?”

“Yes.”

“And, um, um, he’s yours?”

“Last I checked, you couldn’t return a kid, ha-ha.”

Zach looked up at Chris and laughed, the kind of laugh he hated hearing come from his lips, like the time he saw his first penis up close, or when he came out to his mother: inappropriate and shrill. “No, um, you wouldn’t want to do _that_!” Zach pushed the sleeves of his sweater up his arms.

“Of course not, I love him.”

“Yeah, you do! Of course! Pssh!” Zach blew a lungful of air out of his mouth as he pulled the sleeves of his sweater down to cover his wrists. He glanced up at the wall clock then thrust the photo back at Chris. “He really looks like you.”

“Oh, let’s hope not!” Chris said as he smiled fondly at it before returning it to his wallet, which he shoved back into his pocket. “So this is what I was trying to tell you yesterday, when we—“

He waggled his eyebrows at Zach, who stared at him blankly for a moment before exclaiming, “Oh!”

“I’m sorry I never said anything about him before, but I find a lot of people, like, insta-judge me for having a kid at my age, and I think it was kind of shitty of me, but I really, really like you, so...” 

His voice was earnest, and he kept gesturing with his hands, which tempered Zach’s panic just a little. “I don’t judge you, Chris, who am I to do that?”

Chris shrugged and sipped his soda, looking away, and it was then that Zach noticed the shaking in his hands. Had no one ever had a positive reaction to this revelation before? 

“I’ll bet you’re a great dad, too,” Zach added.

Chris grinned at him then, a real eye-crinkler that made Zach's stomach hurt. “I hope so.”

Zach looked back at the clock, actually reading it this time, and wondered how long he’d have to stay before leaving didn’t make him look like a dick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris knows he fucked up not telling Zach about Teddy, but a sick kid trumps romance every time.

Chris sat in his car in the Ralph's parking lot, staring at the steering wheel, and shaking his head. 

_“So how old--?”_ Zach had asked him, inquiring about Teddy's age

_“He'll be four in July.”_

_“Oh. Really?” His eyes flicked back to the clock on the wall for the fifth time in four minutes. Chris could practically see him do the math in his head. “So he lives with you.”_

_“Yep.” Chris traced his fingertip around the outer edge of the tortilla chip he'd picked out of the basket._

_“That must be cool,” Zach said slowly._

_Mercifully, the waitress came over to clear their plates and ask if they were interested in dessert or coffee. The place made a terrific flan, but Chris was no longer hungry. He looked at Zach expectantly anyway; since Chris was treating he didn't want to be rude._

_Zach rested a hand on his belly and rubbed it in a circle. “God, I'm stuffed,” he said, glancing at his half-eaten enchiladas. “No, thanks.”_

_“Just the check please,” Chris told the waitress. She nodded and went away and that was that._

“Stupid!” Chris said aloud, turning off the car's engine resignedly. Sometimes he wished he was the type to want to beat up on inanimate objects to vent his frustration, but the steering wheel of his beat-up old Subaru wagon had done nothing to him personally. He got out of the car and dragged his feet on his way to the store, shoulders bowed. _I am so stupid,_ he thought. 

Zach was the first person he was interested in—hell, who'd shown any interest in _him_ —since Desi died, and he may have completely blown it. He wasn’t sure if there was a way to come back from this. It wasn't as if he'd lied, not exactly, but he wasn't so naïve he thought it made a difference to Zach. He was young, gorgeous, talented; Chris wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to be stuck with someone with a kid. 

Chris pulled a shopping cart from the row of them in front of the store and went inside, picking out lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and spinach and tossing them haphazardly into plastic bags. He moved quickly, grabbed a bag of apples and a pineapple because it was on sale and it was Katie's favorite. As he passed the bakery to grab some hot dog buns, his attention was caught by a gigantic chocolate cake sitting inside the glass display case. He came to a halt in front of it, staring. It was the kind that was clearly meant to be someone's birthday cake, maybe ten inches across, with a garden's worth of buttercream roses on it and a big open space in the middle to write on it. He bent over to get a better look, wondering if it was chocolate or yellow cake inside. In the mood he was in, he could absolutely murder the thing.

“Don't do it, man,” a voice said behind him. He turned around to face a pretty young woman, standing there with her own cart. She had pale skin and long brown hair and the largest, most expressive brown eyes he had ever seen. He felt a brief pang; if she was shorter and her complexion a shade or two darker, she could pass for Desi. 

“Um, what?”

“I said don't do it. I mean, a guy like you and a cake like that? Well, there's only one thing that could possibly add up to, and it’s trouble.”

Despite his bad mood, he couldn't help but smile. “You think so?”

“I know so. Look at it, it's a gateway pastry is what that is. Sure, you think you'll just start out with a slice or maybe two, but before you know it, you wake up face down in the gutter with buttercream up your nose and eight hours of lost time. Later, you’ll swear it was just going to be the one time but before you know it, you've got that craving again and you’re mainlining éclairs two, three at a time. Trust me, pal, stick with what you know. Safe stuff: pound cake, apple pie.”

He grinned, nearly laughing. “I see there are mini cupcakes over there,” he pointed out; there were a stack of them, actually, pre-packaged in plastic boxes designed to keep them separated.

She looked over at them with a raised eyebrow. “Well, as long as you use them recreationally I can't see any harm in it.”

“That’s a relief.” He went over to have a look; there was a mixture of chocolate and vanilla with rainbow sprinkles on top, and Teddy would love them. “They're for my son,” he felt compelled to tell her as he placed a box of them into his cart. 

“Yeah, ok,” she said, and winked. 

He laughed and she moved along, inspecting a stack of boxed muffins with a jaundiced eye. 

Chris moved on to the grocery section, then frozen foods to stock up on chicken fingers and frozen corn for Teddy—the kid was unnaturally addicted to corn. He was considering whether a box of Mickey Mouse Popsicle things would last in the car while he picked Teddy up at his mom’s when he heard a now-familiar voice behind him. 

“Either you really do have a kid, or you have strangely juvenile tastes,” said the young brunette.

Chris turned to smile at her. “I prefer to think of them as unencumbered by the kneejerk cynicism of adult life.” Something in her cart caught his eye—it was the chocolate cake he’d been looking at earlier. 

She had the grace to look sheepish when he looked at her accusingly. “So it’s my friend’s birthday today, and I forgot to order the cake—sue me!”

“How could I do that?” Chris said, resting a humble hand on his chest. “I’ll merely glare at you disapprovingly for the rest of our time here.”

She smiled. “I like you, you’re funny.” She held a hand out for Chris to shake. “I’m Anne, by the way.”

“Chris.”

“If we’re going to be flirting in the aisles, we might as well know each other’s names.”

Chris blushed and dropped her hand. “I wasn’t flirting, I mean, not really.”

“No? I don’t know whether to be shocked or disappointed. Either way, you’re completely charming.” 

“Well I certainly don’t try to be.”

That got a laugh. “Then I wish I could see it when you do.” She pushed her cart to the end of the aisle and he watched as she stocked up on about 4 gallons of vanilla ice cream.

He didn't run into her again before checking out, but at least his bad mood had dissipated, and for that he was grateful.

\----

“Hey there, kiddo, you ready to go?”

“Daddy, Daddy!” Teddy said excitedly from the swing set in the back yard of the Pine family residence. Gwynne grabbed the swing’s seat and stopped its momentum so the child could jump to the ground. Chris braced himself for the shot to the groin that was a very real possibility whenever his son threw his arms around him.

“Oof! How was your day?”

“It was good, we saw a caterpillar and it’s gonna be a butterfly.”

“Is it?”

“Well it will _some_ day,” Gwynne qualified.

“I see. You should maybe draw one for me,” Chris said.

“That’s a good idea!” Teddy shouted and ran toward the house.

“Not right now, Ted!” The child practically skidded to a halt. “We’ve got to go home, come on, I’ve got groceries in the car.”

“OK, Daddy.” Teddy ran back, then changed direction as he ran over to the swing set to retrieve Hrothgar.

“You OK, hon, you look a little drawn,” Gwynne said to Chris, reaching up to touch his face lightly.

Chris wondered if the day’s disappointment was really showing on his face. “Just tired, I guess.” 

“Of course you are, you’re a parent,” she joked, and kissed him on the cheek. She began clearing up some of the toys that had migrated to the patio, as well as some dishes and cups from what must have been a pretty epic snack time. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said, leaning over to kiss Teddy on the head before breezing into the house.

“Ready, Daddy.”

Chris buckled Teddy into his seat, started the car, and they were on their way home. He made hot dogs for dinner; it was just the two of them—Katie was on a date or something and would be home later than usual. He was halfway through his second hotdog before he noticed Teddy hadn’t touched a thing on his plate. He sat with his head propped on his hand, looking somewhat wilted. “You OK, buddy? You haven’t even touched your olives.” Black olives were hands down Teddy's favorite food; he’d always eat them first, sticking them on the ends of his fingers first because why not. 

“My belly isn’t hungry, Daddy.”

Chris looked at him sideways; it wasn’t as if pretending to be sick was beyond the kid, even at his age, but this was one of his favorite meals, and even if he was completely full, he’d have at least gone for the olives. “Does it hurt, your belly? Or do you feel like you might throw up?”

Teddy shook his head. Chris reached over the table and rested the backs of his fingers against the boy’s forehead. Did he have a temperature? It didn’t seem like it.

“All right, then, drink your milk and you’ll be off the hook.” Teddy nodded and dutifully took a sip.

Chris was too preoccupied with Teddy to finish his own dinner; he seemed lethargic and was less talkative than usual, which was enough to cause concern. Chris called the club and let them know he wouldn’t be making it in. He dressed Teddy in his pajamas and was going to put in a DVD of _The Land Before Time_ , but Teddy headed for his bed as soon as he got his pajamas on, without even asking for a story. 

Chris sat in the bed with him until he fell asleep, hoping he'd be better in the morning. 

\----

“Daddy.”

As soon as the small hand touched his shoulder, Chris's eyes snapped open and he was instantly awake. “What is it, what's wrong?” 

“I don't feel good,” Teddy replied, as if the tears in his eyes weren't enough of a clue. He stood beside the pullout Chris slept on, head cocked to the side and rubbing his dinosaur Hrothgar against his ear. 

Chris sat up immediately and switched on the lamp on the end table. “Aww, does your ear hurt, buddy?” 

“Yes!” Teddy nodded as the tears began flowing, along with the sobs. 

“Come here, come here,” Chris said, gathering him in his arms and holding him close. “Shh buddy shh,” he soothed. It was probably only an ear infection—they'd lived through enough of them for Chris to know the signs—but it didn't make it any less upsetting to have your child crying in pain in your arms at one in the morning. 

When he'd calmed somewhat, Chris carried him to the kitchen to find the children's Tylenol. After he'd been dosed, Chris grabbed the instant thermometer and stuck it in his other ear; it read 101.5 F. Chris whistled low when he saw it.

“Is it bad?” Teddy asked, his chin quivering. He was clearly still on the edge.

“Nothing Daddy can't handle,” Chris assured him. He snagged a tissue and cleaned up Teddy's face, then carried him back into the living room. They were just getting settled when Katie came into the room, glasses askew and hair in a ponytail on top of her head. 

“Something wrong?”

“Looks like it’s an ear infection.” 

“Aw buddy,” she said, resting a hand gently on Teddy's head. “Anything I can do?”

“No, I think we're just gonna park it here for the duration. Did we wake you?”

She waved her hand. “Pfft, don't worry about it. You sure I can’t do anything? You want some tea or something?”

“Nah, just go get some rest. At least one of us should be prepared to pay rent this month.”

She moved her hand to rest on Chris's head for a moment too before heading back to her room. Chris wished he didn't crave the comfort, but it had been a trying day.

\----

After several unsuccessful tries, Chris finally got Teddy to fall asleep—as long as he was upright he seemed to be somewhat comfortable. The fact this position was attained while still in Chris's arms meant, of course, that Chris was sitting up. Needless to say, he didn't get much sleep.

That's how Katie found them in the morning, Chris dozing with his neck at an odd angle against the back of the couch, his son a hot, sweaty weight on top of him with his head resting beneath Chris's chin. 

“Morning,” Chris croaked at her as she tried to tiptoe past them. 

“You're up? Want some coffee?”

He nodded and shifted to try to get a more comfortable position. The movement roused Teddy though, and he raised his head, blinking up at Chris. “Feeling any better, bean?”

He responded by trying to burrow inside Chris's chest. 

“How about some breakfast? I'll let you have a Pop Tart.” 

Pop Tarts were strictly for special occasions. Teddy didn't seem wildly enthusiastic but Chris had to try to get some food into him. He rose and carried his son to the kitchen, depositing him in his booster chair, then making breakfast. He popped a pair of blueberry frosted Pop Tarts into the toaster and mixed up some instant oatmeal for himself. It wasn’t as good as the stuff he regularly made, but he was too tired to deal with pots and pans. Luckily Katie was already on coffee duty, so Chris grabbed up the Thermoscan to get Teddy's temperature again.

“Any better?” Katie asked hopefully.

“Nope. Oh well, looks like we’re gonna have to go to the doctor, kiddo.” If the pitifully grateful look Teddy gave him was any indication, he didn't object.

\----

Dr. Caroline Hobbes was the same pediatrician Chris and Katie went to as children. The staff already knew him and were able to get Teddy an appointment at 11:30. 

“Aw, what have we here?” asked Miss Lila, the elderly receptionist who ran the front office with an iron fist. She was kind and funny and made the patients feel like they were being cared for.

“I think someone has an ear infection,” Chris told her, trying to sign while balancing the child he had draped over him like a sack of potatoes. 

“Poor baby. Well, the doctor’s not too backed up today, so we’ll get you in as soon as we can, all right, Christopher?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chris said, handing over his insurance card and co-pay.

When they were checked in, he headed for the farthest corner of the waiting room, where there was a two-seater available under the television. Chris sat down, Teddy molding himself to his side. The place was packed as usual, most of the seating taken by young mothers and children, with the occasional older woman, he presumed a grandmother. He ignored the eyes that followed him, grabbing up a magazine for himself and a picture book to keep Teddy occupied. The attention was something he'd gotten used to over the years, being one of the few men who brought their kids in to see the doctor. He'd gotten a variety of reactions, from people looking at him as if he were a unicorn to those who made comments about how nice it was to see a man taking responsibility. He'd learned to avoid them, tiring very early on of explaining his situation, and of the reactions he'd get when they learned Teddy's mother died when he was born. Especially now that Teddy was older, he did not want to subject his son to the clucking tongues and pitying looks. 

They were waiting ten minutes when his mobile phone rang. Fumbling for it in his pocket, he glanced at Miss Lila apologetically as he answered. She shook her head disapprovingly but still smiled at him. 

“Hello?”

“Pine! There you are. Jesus, where the hell are you?”

“Patrick? What do you mean?”

He made an annoyed noise. “Are you kidding me? We were supposed to do one more run through of our scene before presenting it to the guys this afternoon. You’re an hour late!”

_Shit_

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Aw man, Paddy, I'm sorry. I'm in the middle of something and it slipped my mind. I can't come down there today.”

“Are you kidding me? You're the one who wanted to do this goddamn scene and now you're standing me up? You know how much it's been kicking my ass, Chris.” 

“I know, but like I said, something came up. It's not like we're doing it for a director or casting agent—can’t we just do it next week?”

There was a cold silence. “I thought this was supposed to be a real actors’ workshop, Chris. I thought we were supposed to take it seriously. Like professionals.”

“Come on man don't you think that's a bit harsh?”

“I dunno, is it? If we're not holding ourselves accountable to something, then what are we doing here?” He paused and Chris said nothing. “I guess I thought you were more responsible, that's all. You should have called.” 

Chris could feel his cheeks getting hot as he went from feeling bad to annoyed. “Well man, I'm sorry but I am in the middle of something that had to take priority. Either you take my word for that or you don't, that's on you. I've gotta go now.”

“Whatever.” Chris ended the call and sighed. 

“Something wrong Daddy?” Teddy asked, peering up at him with large eyes. 

Chris just now noticed the rat’s nest his hair had become and began to comb his fingers through it. “No, baby, it’s nothing.”

\----

As suspected, Teddy had an ear infection, so Chris's first stop was the pharmacy to fill a prescription for antibiotics. They were not even in the car before he was administering the first dose—he wanted it to begin working its magic as soon as possible—then he buckled Teddy into his seat and they went on their way. 

“Who wants McDon-Don's for lunch?” he asked as a McDonald's came into view. 

“Me!”

Chris knew he should give Teddy something less processed, but he was honestly too tired to manage anything more at the moment. “I'm a good dad,” he muttered wryly as he pulled into line at the drive-thru, then belatedly remembered the Pop Tart at breakfast. _Spinach for dinner,_ he promised, ordering a Happy Meal and a quarter pounder for himself. 

Teddy, naturally, was asleep before they got home, so Chris put him to bed and ate his own lunch in front of the TV. “Living the dream,” he said tiredly. Fifteen minutes later, he fell asleep watching a _Gilligan's Island_ rerun. 

\----

_RIIIIIIIING_

Chris woke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. His cell phone rang again and he scrambled to his feet, tripped over the afghan he'd thrown over himself, and hit the floor with a crash. “Goddammit,” he muttered, surging to his feet to get to the kitchen where his phone was plugged in. He thought it might be his mom or Katie, checking up on Teddy, and he didn't want it to go to voice mail or else they'd worry. 

“Hello? Hello?”

“Chris, at last!” his agent, Mandy, said breathlessly into the phone. Everything seemed to be an emergency with Mandy. Chris figured it was her way of giving attentive service; she was still relatively new to the job, having spent the last two years as personal assistant to one of the partners at the agency, and she wanted to prove herself. He wondered if it was exhausting. “Thank _god_ I tracked you down!”

“Well, you found me at last,” he said without a trace of irony. He’d had his phone on him all day, if she’d called him he’d have gotten it. 

“Guess what?”

Chris rolled his eyes and waited; clearly she wanted to create suspense. “What?”

“The studio wants to see you! You've got an audition for Princess Diaries 2! Yippee!”

“For... what now?” His brain was so muddled by sleep deprivation he wasn't sure he'd heard her properly.

“Princess Diaries 2! It's an important movie franchise, Chris, and they want you to read for the role of the prince!”

“I thought it was about a princess?”

“Prince, Princess, what's the difference?”

He could think of a few very key differences, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“I'm messengering you the scene they want you to prepare. Learn it. This is Disney, kid, it's the big leagues!”

Kid? She was his age. 

“They want to see you at 3:00 on Friday.” 

“That's… tomorrow.”

“Then you'd better learn quickly. The messenger will be there in an hour with all the details. Call me right after you’re done!”

She rang off, leaving Chris standing in his kitchen with his grandmother's afghan still wrapped around one of his feet and a growing sense of panicked excitement. Or was it excited panic? He couldn’t be sure. All he did know was that this was his first audition for a big studio film, and he felt a surge of hope and fear all at once. He felt like yelling. He felt like fainting. Either way, there was one and only one person he wanted to share it with right now.

“Daddy's gonna be a movie star,” he whispered to his still-sleeping son, lifting him out of bed and holding him close. 

\----

“Hey. Guys.” Chris walked into Grimy Corp late the following morning, feeling strangely tentative. He needed help and encouragement with the scene for his audition, but he felt a little raw, given where he’d left things with Patrick. They’d been friends for a little over a year, having met in an acting class, and while theirs was the kind of relationship where they coached each other for auditions and had the occasional beer, they hadn’t progressed to the point where they’d hung out at each other’s’ houses. Chris’s natural reluctance to let just about anyone know about Teddy had something to do with it, and Patrick never seemed interested in stepping over that line either. But in all that time, they’d never really had a disagreement, and Chris didn't know what to say or do.

Another reason Chris felt strange was that he hadn’t heard from Zach since the other day, and he just didn't want to think about what that had done to their budding relationship. He knew he’d screwed up, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to face up to it.

Luckily—depending on your perspective—Zach wasn’t there, but Reid and Patrick were.

“Hey,” Reid greeted him pleasantly.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Patrick said stiffly.

Chris crossed the space to stand behind the couch where Patrick was sitting. “Look, man, I’m truly sorry about yesterday, but it was a family emergency, you know?”

“Yeah, OK,” Patrick said, his voice still clipped. Chris wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or not, but there wasn’t much more he could do about it.

“So, um,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck and tapping the manila envelope that had his copies of the script pages inside against his leg. “I’ve got this audition for a film?”

“What? That’s terrific!” Reid said, getting to his feet and coming over to him. He shook Chris’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “When? Next week?”

“Today, actually. At 3:00.”

“Man, that doesn’t give you any time. They send you a script?”

“I’ve got the sides they sent me in here,” Chris said, holding up the envelope. “Plus some copies.”

“You learn the lines?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same in my head. I could use someone to bounce ‘em off?”

“Well, you came to the right place for that!” Reid said with an excited smile. He was always positive and encouraging, and Chris really needed that kind of energy right now. “Now calm down, you look like you’re about to puke.”

“I think I am,” Chris said nervously.

“Well, maybe you can use that. Adams, you wanna wipe the puss off and give some critique?”

“Yeah, all right,” Patrick said, standing to join them.

“Thanks guys,” Chris said gratefully, “thanks a lot.”

“No thanks are necessary—when you get the part, you’re buying beer for a week. OK!” Reid clapped his hands together hopped up onto their small stage and beckoned Chris to join him. 

Patrick snatched the envelope from Chris and took out the copies he’d made, giving one to Reid and offering one to Chris. 

“Nah, I’ve got it down already,” Chris said before joining Reid.

“Suit yourself.” He handed Reid a copy and read the synopsis of Chris’s character out loud, “Here we go, you play Sir Nicholas Deveraux, leading douchebag of the country of Genovia.”

Chris laughed. “He is a pretender to the throne,” he pointed out.

“And he’s also been scheming with his uncle to steal it from the lovely Princess Mia, whoever that may be. Jesus, who writes this stuff?”

“Shut up, it’s a Disney movie.”

“’Nuff said.” Patrick paced up and down in front of the stage. “It appears that our Nicholas has, in fact, fallen in love with the comely lass, and is having second thoughts about stealing her birthright from her.”

“How sweet,” Reid said. “So this is not exactly _The Lion in Winter._ ”

“More like The Mouse in Century City,” Chris said. “The audience for this thing is little girls probably.” 

“And beggars can’t be choosers,” Patrick added.

“Exactly.”

“OK, so this scene is Sir Nick the Dick and his uncle discussing the princess, apparently. Let’s give it a run through.”

Reid, who’d been reading ahead in the four pages of script he’d gotten, nodded to indicate he was ready.

“OK then, ACTION!”

“What are you saying, my boy?” Reid began, deepening his voice and adjusting it to sound more throaty, rheumy somehow, like a much older man; he did a good job of it, Chris thought.

“Well, she's smart. And she really cares about Genovia. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she ran the country.”

“Are you mad?” 

Chris took a step forward. “She believes in Genovia so much that she's convinced herself to marry someone that she knows she can never love.”

“CUT!” Patrick said. Chris looked over at him. “Are you planning to use that accent?”

“What accent?”

“You’re doing some kind of British accent. Or Irish. What is that?”

“Am I? I wasn’t even trying.”

“Stop trying,” Reid said kindly.

Chris laughed. “I thought I did a decent British accent.”

“Keep thinking that,” Patrick deadpanned, “just don’t, you know, do it. Take it from the top.”

“What are you saying?” Reid prompted after a moment.

“Mia is smart. And she really cares about Genovia. Maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she ran the country.”

“Are you mad?”

“She believes in Genovia so much that she's convinced herself to marry someone that she knows she can never love.”

“I can't believe that I am hearing this. You want her to rule? After all the effort that we have put in, to end up with nothing?”

“It wouldn't be nothing. Genovia would be in good hands, and she would be happy.”

“CUT!” Patrick called. “What the hell was that?”

Chris looked down at his hands, which he’d been gesturing with. “I thought I’d try to inject some little bit of the lovelorn young man in there?”

“He’s lovelorn, not Pagliacci. Less hamming it up, more subtlety, please.”

“Yeah, Chris, you should be playing it _straight_ , don’t you think?” a new voice said. 

They all turned to find Zach standing in the doorway. Chris swallowed, unprepared to see him right now.

“That’s probably not a bad note,” Patrick commented, and Reid nodded in agreement. “More earnestness, maybe,” he said.

But Chris couldn’t take his eyes off of Zach, who stood leaning stiffly against the door frame. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were hooded, unreadable.

“Should we go again?” Patrick said.

The scene began and Chris stammered over his second line. They started over, running through the entire thing, but his delivery was too flat.

“I’m sorry, I’m so off with this. I’m gonna blow it,” Chris fretted.

“It’s just nerves,” Reid said encouragingly. 

“You already know the lines, just find the character, OK?” Patrick added.

Chris nodded. “Yeah, I just have to find the character.”

“He seems very _straight-laced_ ,” Zach said. Chris looked up; he’d come further inside and was standing behind Barney the purple couch. “You have to make sure you can keep a _straight_ face.”

Chris looked at him, and could feel his face heating up. “Do you have anything constructive to say? I’m trying to work here.”

“Chris has an audition later,” Reid said, picking up on the tension between them and trying to get them all past it.

Zach spread his hands. “So I gathered. I’m just trying to help. _Straight up_.”

“Hey man, what’s your problem?” Chris asked.

“I don’t think I have a problem.” He crossed his arms.

Chris mirrored his stance. “Clearly you do.”

“You mean like when some straight boy decides to use me to get through his experimental stage? Could that be my problem?”

“Who said anything about experimenting—I know who I am.”

“Do you? Then where did that kid of yours come from? Someone leave it on your doorstep?”

“Kid?” Patrick said, confused.

“He came from the usual place,” Chris said, trying to keep his anger in check. He turned to Patrick. “I have a son. That’s where I was yesterday, by the way, at the pediatrician's office after sitting up with him all night.” Patrick blinked, astonished.

“Oh, I see,” Zach went on. “So then what, you’re on the DL or something? Did you think I’d be your bit of strange on the side?”

“On the DL?” He jumped down off the stage and began to gather up his stuff. He shook his head; there was no way he was going to be able to rehearse now. 

“Wait, are you gay?” Reid asked. He and Patrick looked at each other in confusion, then back at Chris and Zach. 

“Only when it suits him,” Zach said.

“As a matter of fact, I’m bi.” He glared at Zach. “You know, there are more than two sexualities, Zach. Not that it apparently matters to you.” He walked past him to get to the door, brushing Zach's shoulder. Chris stomped through the door and down the hall, out the entrance, and into the parking lot.

“Chris!” someone called after him when he was almost at his car. He turned around—it was Zach.

“You have something more to say to me?” Chris asked, squinting up at him through the bright noon sunlight. “Like, you weren’t nasty enough just now?”

He looked pained. “I didn’t come here to do that, I came here to talk to you, actually.” He walked down the stairs and came closer, but Chris took a step back, which halted his progress.

“Is that what that was?” 

“Look, I'm sorry, I don’t know what that was. Can we start today over? I just want to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” Chris clenched his fists; he could feel his car keys digging into his palm.

“I just need to process this, all right? You kind of sprung it on me. It’s a lot to take in.”

“And it’s somehow all about you now? I don’t know what’s more insulting, Zach, that you’d suggest I’m using you, or you think I’m a cheater. I had a child with my high school girlfriend, it’s not a crime.”

“It isn’t.”

“Maybe act like it then, huh?” He consciously relaxed his arms; they ached with strain but he ignored it. “You know, I really liked you. A lot.”

“Liked? As in past tense?”

Chris shook his head. “You really think there’s any recovery from this?”

Zach’s mouth moved but he said nothing.

“I’ve got to go.” Chris got into his car and started it, deliberately not looking in his rearview mirror as he drove away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude

Katie clocked out at the clinic and headed for the ladies’ room. She looked at herself in the mirror and raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “Well, _you_ look like shit,” she advised her reflection.

Resting her purse on the edge of the sink, she quickly located her makeup bag and went to work, brightening her eyes, cheeks, and lips, then brushing her hair upside down for added volume. Finally, she gave herself another critical once-over and judged the results to be good only after she’d hiked up her bra and pulled her sweater down a bit more in the front. She had a date with the guy she’d been dating tonight, and she wanted to look her best. 

She checked her schedule for the following day before she left, noting the back-to-back patients in her morning with a sense of determined duty—the life of a counseling psychology fellow was a busy one—and finally bid the women at reception a good night and headed for her car.

Tonight was one of the rare nights she had open to go out. Chris worked five nights out of seven, and while she was more than happy to be there to care for her nephew, she never squandered the nights she got to herself. 

She admired Chris’s ability to juggle his life and child while at the same time pursuing his dream of an acting career. She had played at being an actor when she graduated college, but had lacked the intestinal fortitude or whatever quality would allow her to tolerate a string of shit waitressing jobs in order to keep her days free for auditions. A year later, she gave up and went back to get her Masters in Psychology. She didn’t know how Chris found the energy, but it seemed the new acting workshop or club he’d found was helping to keep him focused, which was a good thing. Chris had talent—a lot more than she ever had—and she honestly thought it would be a waste for him never to find success.

Teddy had matured him in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible—and Chris had truly stepped up after the baby was born, dropping out of college for a semester and insisting on doing everything himself in those first, crucial months. It was nothing a young mother in his place wouldn’t have done, but the fact he managed it all while mourning the loss of the love of his life counted for something in Katie’s eyes. He went back to Berkeley for the second half of his sophomore year, leaving Teddy with their parents during the week. He returned home every weekend, never missing a development milestone or an exam, and still managed to graduate on time. His graduation had coincided with her returning to L.A. for her fellowship, and it seemed like the natural thing for them to move into the cozy bungalow they shared together. She wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Katie’s heart beat just a little bit faster when she spotted Joe’s motorcycle already parked in front of the little Mediterranean place they liked to go to, and all reminiscences of Chris were forgotten. She’d been seeing each Joe for a few weeks now—off and on, busy schedules permitting. She suspected it might head into serious territory if she let it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to, though, and was even less sure of his feelings on the matter. For now, she was content to have fun and remain on the fence. 

She walked into the restaurant’s bar area to find him at a high-top in the corner, two glasses of red wine already in front of him. He sat facing the entrance, though he wasn’t looking up when she came in, so she got a rare chance to observe him unguarded and at rest. He was hot, there was no doubt, with wide-set eyes and thick eyebrows; “strong features” her grandmother would have said once upon a time. He was almost always animated, with an inner energy that was infectious, and energizing to her. He looked up as she got closer, his eyes lighting up as he smiled at her. His eyes were his best feature, bright and lively, they danced with compassion and intelligence and good humor.

He stood and held her chair out for her, kissing her on the cheek when she’d settled, then took his seat across from her. “Want me to get a table in the dining room?”

“No, here is fine,” she said, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “I want to unwind. And look at you. Mostly look at you.”

His smile widened and he pushed her glass of wine toward her. They clinked glasses and drank, and he called a waitress over, ordering some small plates of olives, grilled octopus, and hummus. “Do you mind? I’m starved,” he said. “I was on a fashion shoot out on Catalina today—it only sounds glamorous, don’t get too excited. I had to get up at the asscrack of dawn, the client refused to pay for an assistant, the stylist forgot half the bathing suits on the ferry, and a bird crapped on my head.”

Katie laughed. “Oh no, my poor baby!” 

“No need to give me the side eye, I took a shower before I came.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be good luck?”

“They only say that to make you feel better about getting crapped on,” he grumped, but he was so cute she had to lean over and kiss him.

“Still sounds better than the day I had,” she told him. “I don’t think I saw sunlight until I left the clinic to come here.”

They chatted about their respective days—Joe, who had to nurse a male model through an allergic reaction to the sunscreen he’d brought certainly took the prize—until their food came, and then they chatted about that.

“Oh hey—how’d your brother's audition go last week?” Joe asked. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask.”

She smiled; he was sweet to remember, and they hadn't really spoken since she’d told him about it “Thanks for asking,” she said. “He didn't feel all that good about it at the time, actually, but they must have seen something they liked because he got a call back.”

“Good for him. I know how hard it can be.” 

“Yeah, I'm kind of insanely proud of him, actually.”

“It shows,” he said. “I feel the same way about my brother.” He frowned, as if reminded of something. “Except lately maybe.”

“What’d he do? Aw, come on, I'm sure it's not so bad. You said yourself he's a good kid.”

“Generally yeah, but sometimes he's a frigging boneheaded, spoiled brat.”

Katie laughed at the idea of characterizing a 26-yr old as a spoiled brat.

“Ah ha, you laugh, but you don’t know what he’s done.”

Just then, their server returned with another round of drinks. 

“What’s he done?” she prompted after a sip of her wine.

He removed an olive pit from his mouth and swallowed. “Well, I thought he was really into this one guy—wouldn’t shut up about him. He’s another actor—which could be good, you know—he sounded pretty nice and everything. And I’m thinking, this is great, he seems to want to take it slow, not just his usual one night stands, which is his usual M.O. Signs of maturity, you know?”

Katie couldn’t really relate—Chris was perhaps one of the more responsible people she knew—but she nodded anyway.

“But then he freaks the hell out when it turns out the guy has a kid. I mean, is that ridiculous or what?”

Katie could feel her cheeks warm up. “I think it’s a little worse than ridiculous. I mean, my brother has a child, it doesn’t make _him_ any less desirable as a partner. If anything, it means he’s more stable and reliable.”

“I know, believe me I know! All I want is for my brother to grow the hell up and soon. He’s 26, I mean, it’s high time. At his age, I was putting the first payment down on my house.”

“Well, he is an actor,” Katie pointed out.

“OK, point taken. But look at your brother—trying to act and he’s got a kid. And he’s doing all right, right?”

“Well, _I_ think so, but I may be biased. As a matter of fact, thought, there’s a guy he’s been seeing, too, so ‘having it all,’ as they say, is totally possible.”

“Good for him!”

“Right? This guy’s another actor, too, so I guess that means they’re not all shallow and immature.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Joe said with a laugh.

“You know, I was telling Chris just the other day, he should bring Zach home to meet the family, but I think it’s still too new maybe. He had a weird look on his face when I said it.” She took a sip of wine and glanced up at Joe, who was looking at her with his mouth hanging open. “What? Do I have hummus on my face?”

“What did you say your brother’s name was?”

“It’s Chris. Haven’t I ever said?”

Joe shook his head no. “I think you always refer to him as ‘my brother.’” His eyes drifted off her face and he furrowed his brows. “And he’s dating a guy named Zach.”

“Yeah.”

“My brother’s named Zach,” Joe said slowly. “And he’s dating a guy named Chris.”

“Oh my God, do you think—“ Katie’s pulse surged as she made the connection, momentarily excited, but then: “Motherlover.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be… what… what have you got to be sorry for?” She felt kind of numb, surprised that Chris hadn't told her anything about this.

“Zach—he’s just…” his voice dropped off and he looked somewhat forlorn.

She reached for his hand and squeezed. “It’s not your fault your brother—“ she cut herself short.

“Is an asshole?” Joe finished for her. “The thing is, he’s not. He’s a good guy most of the time—thoughtful and loyal and compassionate, which is why I don’t understand why he freaked out about the little guy.”

Katie’s initial anger quickly dissipated. “Probably because my brother didn’t tell him right away,” Katie guessed. “He’s weirdly private about Teddy and I can’t say I blame him all that much, but it causes complications.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a minute, Katie running a fingertip around the rim of her glass. 

“I guess it’s ultimately none of our business what they do now,” Joe said, though she thought he looked legitimately disappointed.

“I suppose not,” she agreed, but her mind kept working, wondering if there was something she could—or even should—do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach earns Chris’s friendship back, a little at a time.

**ONE MONTH LATER**

Zach strolled through the flea market, a plastic shopping bag dangling from his fingers that he occasionally swung around in a lazy circle. Inside was a hand dyed batik scarf he knew his mother would love—it was never too soon to start Christmas shopping. He paused at a stand that was selling a bunch of old—vintage?—dishes, and was checking out the colorful Fiestaware when he glanced up and saw something that seemed wrong. 

Out beyond the stand, which stood at the corner of two aisles, was a small boy. People moved around and past him, but as Zach watched, none of them seemed to be _with him_. No one he observed seemed to be keeping an obvious eye out, which he would have expected to see with a child that age—three or four by Zach’s estimation. As the boy looked up and around himself, clutching the plastic dinosaur he held closer to his body, Zach could see the beginnings of panic setting in. It was obvious the child was lost. 

Zach scanned the surrounding area and saw no adult obviously searching, so he decided to do something fast. “Hey buddy, where's your mom?” he said, approaching the kid with as open and amiable a smile on his face as he could manage.

The boy looked up at Zach with large eyes that were beginning to fill with tears.

“Are you lost?” Zach asked. 

The boy bit his lip and took a step backward. Not wanting him to run away, Zach glanced around, searching for one of the security guards that roamed the aisles on the lookout for shoplifters. “I know, you're probably not supposed to talk to strangers, huh? I totally respect that, so how about I do the talking? Because if I was a small guy and I misplaced my mom, I'd probably be pretty careful too.” He smiled and made a show of looking around the place. “So anyway, I'm just looking around for a police officer, because that's what you're supposed to do when you're lost, right? Because that's what safety is all about!” Zach shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked up and down on the balls of his feet, trying to send out friendly, non-threatening vibes. “Only there don't seem to be any officers around here. Hmmm, maybe if we go stand on the edge of the path over there, we won't be all in the way, huh?” He took a cautious step to the side, and the boy seemed willing to follow. 

Soon they were out of the way of the bustling crowd. It being a Saturday morning, the place was nuts, so it was no wonder the kid was able to wander off; his mom was probably somewhere nearby, hysterical with worry. 

“Hey, that's a pretty sweet dinosaur you’ve got there,” Zach said. “Sauropod right?”

“No, not sauropod. He’s a plesiosaur,” the boy corrected. 

Zach felt disappointed in himself for getting it wrong. “No? Oh. I guess I always get them confused. How can you tell?”

“Plesiosaurs are aquatic. See how he’s got flippers instead of legs? And they’re meat-eaters—see his teeth?”

Zach was beginning to feel like a prize idiot. “Oh. Oh yeah, sure. Thanks for clearing that up for me. You're pretty smart aren't you?”

“My daddy says so.” 

“Well, your daddy's right.” 

At the mention of his father, the boy began to look anxious again. Before Zach could ask him another question, there was a shout behind them. 

“Teddy? Teddy!”

Zach and the boy turned and there, running through the crowds, was Chris Pine. 

“Daddy, daddy!” Teddy ran toward him

“Teddy, oh my God!” Chris said, picking the boy up and holding him tightly. “You gave me the scare of my life. Where did you go?”

“I was following you.”

“Gosh, clearly not if you got lost!”

“Maybe he just followed the wrong person,” Zach suggested helpfully, stepping forward. “I’ll bet anyone in jeans looks the same from his perspective.”

Chris looked up at him, noticing him for the first time. “Zach?” He put Teddy down on the ground. “Thank you so much for finding him! What a good thing you were here today.”

“Well, I, um, I—“ Zach stammered—did Chris think he’d recognized Teddy? Because he hadn’t. “I mean, I just saw a lost kid, you know?”

“Still—thank you.”

Chris smiled then, the corners of his mouth curving up towards his eyes, making their outer edges crinkle. He was so beautiful Zach’s stomach hurt. It felt strange to see him again, even though it had been a month since they’d last spoken—since Zach had said horrible things and made an asshole of himself. He looked good. He looked the same. Except for the child that clung to his leg now, gazing up at Zach with wide, hazel eyes.

“So you’re Teddy, huh?” Zach said, looking at him with genuine interest.

Chris dropped his hand to rest on his son’s head, gently urging him around to meet Zach. “Come meet my friend Mr. Zach,” he said encouragingly.

“Friend?” Zach asked uncertainly, looking Chris in the eyes. “Is that what we are?”

“You found my lost child, that goes a long way,” he said simply.

Zach smiled at him, tentatively. “I would have done it for anyone’s child.”

“That goes a long way, too.” He looked down at Teddy, who was still half-hiding behind him, and fondly ran a hand through the child’s dark curls. Except for his hair and eye color, Teddy was the spitting image of his father. 

“So Teddy, you didn’t finish telling me all about the differences between plesiosaurs and sauropods,” Zach said.

Teddy’s eyes widened, as if he was mortified by his oversight. He held his plastic dinosaur aloft and gave Zach an anatomy lesson, rattling off words like “Triassic” and “Cretaceous” as if they were nothing. After five minutes, Chris took pity on Zach and put a halt to it. “Oh, hey, I think that’s enough Paleontology 101, kiddo. What do you say we look into some lunch?”

“OK! Can Mr. Zach come with us? Please?”

The “yes” was out of Zach’s mouth before Chris even looked up at him.

\----

They ate at a luncheonette that was a permanent fixture at one end of the flea market’s open-air structure. The food was nothing to write home about, but it was inexpensive and, Zach supposed, affordable for a struggling single dad. He sat in the hard plastic booth across from them, and watched as Chris automatically cut the crusts off his son’s grilled cheese before maneuvering the ketchup bottle out of reach. Zach soon realized why – Teddy basically used his French fries as a conveyance for ketchup to his mouth, and was soon finished with the portion Chris had given him. Zach wondered how many times this little dance had been carried out between them. 

“So, the Corp hasn’t been the same without you there,” Zach said tentatively.

Chris stared at the wall past Zach’s head. “Yeah, I’ve been. Um. Busy.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I said, or for my ignorance,” Zach said quietly, “but I am sorry.”

Chris glanced at him and then down at the Formica tabletop. “I appreciate that,” he said slowly. “I can’t say I wasn’t wrong too.” He picked up his Coke and didn’t drink, then put it down. He folded his hands in his lap.

Zach cut his cheese omelet into increasingly tinier pieces. “I don’t suppose we could—“ he let his voice trail off; he couldn't ask what he really wanted.

“I don’t know if I can,” Chris answered, and Zach was suddenly no longer hungry.

Zach nodded, resigned. “I suppose I deserve that.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“Don’t be, no one would blame you.”

“I still am, though.”

They sat in silence for a long time, watching Teddy inhale his food. For a small human, he had a huge appetite. 

“But you should still come back,” Zach said after a while. “I know you’ve stayed away because of me, and it’s wrong. The guys miss you, and I’m pretty sure you miss them, so hopefully it won’t be too weird to come back now. I can stay away if you want.”

“You shouldn’t—you’re a founding member.”

“So are you—you named the place, even. You should come back.”

“Come back where, Daddy?” Teddy asked. Zach wondered how much of their conversation he could understand. While he surely couldn’t know what they meant, he seemed to have picked up on their mood; he’d stayed quiet during the entire conversation.

Chris turned to face him as he spoke. “Zach and some more of our friends are actors like me, and we have a playhouse, where we work on scenes together. It helps to practice a lot, so we get good and get jobs.”

“I’ve been trying to get your Dad to come back to the playhouse—he’s been away for a while and everybody really misses him.”

Teddy looked from Zach to Chris and back. “Are they sad?” he asked Zach.

“I think you could say they’re bummed, at the very least.”

“Daddy, you shouldn’t make them sad if they want to play with you.”

“No, I suppose I shouldn’t,” Chris said.

“What better time than the present?”

“I’ve got Ted.”

“So? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind meeting his Daddy’s friends—would you, little man?”

“Nope!”

“You see? And the guys would love to meet him. Come on—it’s Saturday, what else have you got to do?”

Chris seemed to be reluctant still, but eventually, he said, “Ok. Fine.”

“Hurray!” Zach said, clapping along with Teddy. From that point, eating lunch went a lot easier. 

“So have you got anything you’re working on?” Chris asked him after a minute.

“Not really. You?”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Chris squirmed a little in his seat. “Actually, I have another audition coming up next week.”

“A callback for that Disney movie?” Zach asked, and he felt genuinely excited for him. “That’s terrific!”

“No, actually, I already had one callback for that. They apparently still don’t know what they want to do. This is for something else—CSI Miami.”

“CSI—I love that show.”

“You don’t watch TV.”

“Yeah, but I like the _idea_ of that show. Catching the bad guys with science.”

“Well, this one’s a spinoff or something. With David Caruso.”

“Wow—really?”

Chris shrugged. “It’s a job, right?”

“Right. And we can work on it at the Corp this afternoon—see, this is perfect.”

Chris still looked reluctant, but at least he didn’t back out. Zach just wanted to be able to earn his friendship back. The last four weeks, while not exactly hell, were made much less enjoyable by Chris’s absence from his life. He regretted the way he’d lashed out that day more and more, and he considered today’s chance encounter to be a gift he refused not to take advantage of. It was a little thing, but if he could help Chris prepare for this audition—and could figure out a way to combine that with some abject begging—he felt it’d be one more foot on the path to friendship. 

\----

They drove over to the Corp in separate cars, naturally. Zach arrived first and fucked around with his radio for a while so they could go inside together. He didn’t know why he felt the need to do this, only that if he didn’t, Chris might decide against it and leave. While he knew he’d screwed up any possibility of a relationship with Chris, he still desired him as a friend, and somehow his presence when Chris returned mattered, like he was bringing him back into their fold. The place hadn't been the same without his energy and his consistently insightful critiques of the work, and Zach felt the responsibility for his absence. And it wasn’t all in his imagination that the guys all agreed; though they hadn't said as much, not directly to him. 

Chris and Teddy soon arrived, and Zach got out of his car, turning to look at them as if just seeing them. He wandered over and watched as Chris got out and waited patiently for Teddy to unlatch himself from the car seat in the back of the car. Zach noticed Chris hovering over the boy as he clambered out, back to the traffic on the street beyond, providing a protective shield, almost. He wondered at the body language; it seemed so innate, unconscious even. Chris was so attentive and yet careful to allow Teddy some autonomy, which Zach imagined a kid his age would prefer to exert often, but he was still a very physical presence, one that could protect and defend at a moment’s notice. 

“Oh, hey,” Chris greeted him distractedly. 

“Hi, Mr. Zach!” Teddy said with a smile that mirrored his father’s.

“Hey there.”

“This is a playground?” Teddy asked, dubious. “I don’t see the swings, Dad.”

“ _House,_ Ted, it’s a play _house_. We perform plays here.”

“Or so the theory goes,” Zach said. Their plans to turn the space into a showcase had not yet gotten off the ground, though the reasons were valid enough—they all managed to somehow be in demand, and one or more of them were always up for some role or other. “Should we head inside?” 

A brief flicker of trepidation passed over Chris’s face that he carefully suppressed. “What do you say, buddy, you want to meet some of Daddy’s friends?” He held a hand out to his son.

Once inside, the sound of a spirited debate could be heard coming from the open door to their space. “No, you’ve got to pivot it this way!” Babar was saying, “To the right! No, your other right!”

When Zach entered, he saw the reason for the commotion—Patrick, Babar, and Reid were struggling to move a very large, very unwieldy-looking aluminum monstrosity that, upon closer inspection, was a set of portable bleachers. “Well, now I’ve seen everything,” Zach commented. 

“Good to see you could finally make it,” Babar said, as if Zach was late or something. “Can you give this fucking idiot a hand at that end?” 

Reid, who had been valiantly attempting to maneuver his end of the thing on his own, rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Language,” Zach warned, as he stepped through the door and Chris and Teddy stepped in behind him. 

“Oh, hey!” Reid greeted Chris warmly, and when his eyes fell on Teddy, his smile grew. “Who have we here?”

Chris raised a hand in greeting as Patrick and Reid came over with big grins on their faces. Teddy stood just a little bit closer to his father. 

“This is my son, Teddy,” Chris said, resting a reassuring hand on the boy’s head. 

“Hello little man,” Reid said, a soft expression on his face. Zach recalled he had a bunch of nieces and nephews back home, so he was probably used to kids. 

“A mini-Pine? A Pine cone, if you will,” Babar said, pushing against the seating unit with all his strength, his sneakers slipping against the wood floor, and not budging it an inch. 

“Pineapple,” Patrick commented with a smile. He clasped Chris’s outstretched hand and combined it with a shoulder bump.

“Sapling,” Reid supplied. 

“Daddy calls me sprout,” Teddy chirped, suddenly bold under all the attention. Everyone laughed and Teddy grinned charmingly. Zach noticed the dimples in his cheeks; they were deep and adorable and would probably get him in trouble once he hit puberty. Chris didn't have them, leading Zach to wonder if Teddy had inherited them from his mother. This naturally led to him wondering what had happened to her, but he shut that line of thinking down immediately--it was not his business.

“Hey, Sprout, ya wanna come over here and help me with this?” Babar said archly. 

“Sure!” Teddy scampered over and began pushing on Babar’s butt as the man attempted to move the bleachers without luck.

“So what have we got on today?” Zach asked.

“Well, as you see, Babar’s mom strikes again,” Patrick said, indicating the bleachers. “She says we should have proper seating in here.”

“For a high school wrestling match?” Chris asked. They all laughed.

“Well, Christopher here has secured yet another audition,” Zach said, rubbing his hands together. “I thought we could all help him prepare?” 

Everyone agreed easily, and the mood was light and fun, which Zach was glad for. They went over to the stage, though Babar and Teddy still struggled.

“Hey Babar,” Chris called, “You know there are wheels on that thing?”

Babar looked at him, clearly annoyed. “Yes, I realize that.”

“Are they locked?” Chris asked slowly.

Babar looked down and then rolled his eyes. He cursed under his breath in Urdu.

“Was that a bad word?” Teddy asked him.

“Not as far as you know.” He kicked the brakes off the wheels for the bleachers and was able to move them on his own. He and Teddy went to join the others.

“You have the script?” Zach asked Chris.

“I just got it this morning,” Chris said, looking nervous as he opened the envelope he brought with him and handed over one of his copies, “I haven’t had any time to prepare.”

“That’s OK, we’ll find the character as we go, how’s that?” Zach said. He took the script from Chris and scanned it. “It says here the scene takes place in an interrogation room.”

Patrick and Reid sprang into action, bringing a card table and a pair of chairs to the stage and setting them up. 

“OK, let’s just give it a read-through,” Zach suggested. 

“I’m Tommy,” Chris said.

“I start, then,” Zach replied. He cleared his throat and began, “Tommy, your partner Keith told us everything.”

“He’s the one who climbed in the window, how do you know he didn’t do it?”

“We obtained a search warrant at the cottage you rented and we know you were the one who came up with the ideas while others paid for the pleasure.”

“Nobody was complaining.”

“I think if Nicki was alive today, she’d be complaining.” 

“Nicki was a lot of fun. Wild, you know. It started off completely sexu—no you didn't!” Chris stuttered over the words.

“Hey, Teddy, did your Daddy ever tell you about the playground up the street?” Patrick said, talking over Chris.

“Playground? Are there swings?”

“There sure are.”

“Can I go, Daddy? Can I?”

Chris looked over at Patrick gratefully, clearly relieved not to have to discuss sex crimes in front of his nearly 4-year old. “You bet!”

“Yay!” Teddy said, hopping up and down and clapping his hands. 

“Let’s go then,” Patrick said, standing up and holding out a hand to the boy.

“Be good, kiddo,” Chris admonished before they left. “I want a good report from Mr. Patrick.” 

“I will, Daddy, I will! Come on, Mr. Patrick!” Teddy pulled on Patrick’s hand and they left, Reid and Babar following, laughing.

Zach looked at Chris; they were now alone and it felt strange. If Chris felt the same way, he didn’t show it. “Should we go on?” Zach asked. Chris nodded. “So apparently you’re a sex pervert who murdered some girl and I can’t wait to see what happens.”

“Well, I’d say I’m pretty much guaranteed to be going to jail. This _is_ a cop show.”

“True. Huh, it’s too bad it isn’t a prison show,” he said with a wry curve to his lips.

“Please, I’m too pretty for prison,” Chris agreed.

They read through the scene two more times, before Chris got to a point where he wanted to start interpreting it for the audition. Zach decided it made sense for his cop character, who seemed to be a total alpha male asshole anyway, to be standing over Chris. This put him in a position to see the changes in him as Chris gave the character life.

“I think if Nicki was alive today, she’d be complaining,” Zach said. 

Chris licked his lips. “Nicki… she was a lot of fun.” He rubbed the first two fingertips of his right hand against the thumb in a circular motion, as if it aided his memory. “She was wild, you know? It started off completely sexual. Positions. Places. She was even into…” he licked his lips again, and his eyes took on an otherworldly gleam, “perversions.” His breathing caught.

“But soon that wasn’t enough.”

Chris shrugged. “The sex just didn’t do it for me anymore.”

“And then things changed?”

“Yeah, but I still needed Keith. He got scared and left, afraid of what was coming next.”

“What was coming next was murder, right?” Zach prompted.

Chris glanced at him, the blue in his eyes turned cold. “You know, it’s funny, I really thought the kidnapping and rescue thing would be a big thrill, but after a while it just... it was _boring_. Ransom notes, rescues.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

Zach held up an imaginary item. “See this? This is the tear strip from the box of plastic wrap you used to kill her.”

Chris sat up straighter, a calculating look in his eyes. “Keith borrowed some plastic wrap, I didn’t know what it was for.”

“Your DNA is on it.”

“It’s mine. I’m sure I touched it.” His voice was mocking, provocative.

“Your saliva. Your saliva is on it, Tommy, because you kissed Nicki while you were smothering her,” Zach said slowly. 

Chris’s face looked… well, it looked like it did just before he came, and Zach was disturbed for a hot moment. “That’s right. It was unbelievable.” His face became twisted and petulant as realization dawned. “You did that on purpose, huh?” he accused.

“That’s what I do, Tommy. And you made it very easy for me.”

Chris’s face changed again, clearly caught, and not caring. His eyes filled with pleasure again, pleasure at a memory he clearly treasured. “I found the ultimate thrill,” he breathed. “Looking into someone’s eyes as they die.”

Zach was too mesmerized by the performance unveiling before him to react. 

“I think you have the last line there,” Chris said. 

Zach blinked; his friend was back to his normal self again, face open and friendly. “Sorry, um, yeah. You have the right to remain silent, yada-yada.” He let out an explosive breath. “Jesus, Chris, that was fucking disturbing.”

“Yeah?” 

“Look at my arms,” Zach said, offering them up. “Goosebumps.”

Chris looked proud. “Thanks, man. You have any more notes?”

“I would maybe look a little less like you’re about to come in your pants when you talk about killing her, but no, not really.” 

Chris looked pleased. “You want to run through it again?”

\----

“Come on, you guys, come on! Are you going to be at Jenna's opening tonight or not?” Zach asked, trying not to whine. 

“I dunno, Zach, I think I have to wash my hair,” Reid said airily. 

Zach gave him the side-eye; a recent, ill-advised buzz cut had made his already thin face look gaunt. 

“Yeah, and like, I, personally, have to re-alphabetize my CDs,” Patrick said. 

Zach looked at him, feeling murderous. It was now one week after he and Chris had reconnected, and his friends were still sweating him out. Tonight was the opening at LACMA of an exhibition of young, local artists, and Patrick's girlfriend Jenna had a piece in it. Zach had asked Chris if he wanted to come along and Chris—with a rare Saturday night off—had agreed. Zach took pains to insist all the other guys were going as well, so it would not feel like another date to Chris. They were friends again—or close to it, he hoped—and Zach didn't want him to feel any weirdness.

“Are you guys playing? I told Chris you'd be there.”

“We'll be there,” Reid said. “We're just fucking with you.” 

“Assholes.” 

“Pot… meet kettle,” Patrick said, indicating himself. “Lookit, you were the asshole to Chris, and we're making you feel it, just a little bit.

Zach shot him a poisonous look, but held his tongue. The revelation he and Chris had dated had been wild enough for them all to absorb, but Zach’s behavior and Chris’s disappearance from their midst had thrown their equilibrium off for a while. He took a deep breath—as well as his lumps. “I just want him to know I can be a friend, and that—“

“You're not an asshole?” Reid interrupted. 

“Well, yeah.”

“Relax, man, we'll be there. There's free beer, right?” 

\----

Zach pulled up in front of the bungalow and checked he had the correct address. He'd offered to pick Chris up this evening since his car was acting up and he was loath to drive it on the freeway.

The house, like the others in the neighborhood, was pre-War and tiny, with a tidy front yard and a short driveway out front, and a fairly large yard in the back from what Zach could tell from the street. It was closely surrounded by vegetation, lush bougainvillea and jasmine in the front, and what looked like a few citrus and avocado trees at the back. It reminded Zach of the house he and his family lived in for a brief time after his dad died. It was a rental property that was a bit rundown, but had a huge yard that slanted downhill toward a small wood with a creek running through it. He and Joe used to search for frogs and crayfish down there. Zach loved to climb the steep banks and pretend he was Frodo Baggins, finally getting the adventure his uncle had always talked of. 

Zach walked up the path to the front porch, where a plastic dinosaur lay on its side, apparently abandoned. He picked it up before ringing the doorbell, and held it in both hands, grateful for something to do with them. 

The door opened a moment later and a petite brunette answered. Her piercing, ice-blue eyes looked him up and down appraisingly, and as they rested on his face, he got the distinct impression he'd come up lacking. “You're Zach?”

He nodded and smiled his most friendly smile. “Katie, right?” She nodded and walked away, leaving the door open and him standing there like an idiot. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, feeling less than welcome. 

He felt a tug at the hem of his jacket and looked down to find Teddy standing there. “Hello there.”

“Hello, Mr. Zach. Want to see my dinosaurs?” It was less a request than an order; Teddy took him by the hand, pulled him through the living room and down a hall toward the back of the house. 

Zach made note of the layout of the old bungalow as they went; it was a modest home, with an eat-in kitchen and large living room at the front. Two bedrooms and a bath took up the back half, and Zach was surprised to see that the one Teddy brought him was entirely set up for a child. The other bedroom was obviously Katie's—the floral bedding and other feminine accents were the proof of that. 

Teddy's room was decorated with a mishmash of items, some clearly hand-me-downs, like the bed and the wardrobe, others new, like the dresser and the toys. The corner near the window featured a large net hammock affixed to the wall absolutely stuffed to overflowing with plush toys. Zach recognized the brachiosaurus he'd won Chris at the pier among them. One wall above the bed was dominated by a hand-painted mural of a myriad of sky-bound objects, balloons, birds of all species, even a few parachutists, and in the foreground, a historic biplane being flown by a girl. It was adorable. He wondered if it depicted a scene from a storybook.

Teddy sat himself down among a pile of dinosaurs he appeared to be arranging into a parade. 

“Oh, I just remembered I found this on the porch,” Zach said, holding the toy dinosaur out to him. “I think it's yours.” 

Teddy gave the toy a perfunctory glance. “That's Hrothgar.” 

“Don't you want him back?” 

“He’s in timeout,” he said, appearing annoyed, and continued with what he was doing. 

“Oh? Why?” 

“He knows what he did.”

Zach laughed. 

“Come down here, Mr. Zach,” Teddy ordered, indicating a bare spot on the carpeted floor. 

“Oh, ok.” Zach sat down in a lotus position, feeling a little out of sorts. He picked up a tyrannosaurus and began playing with its arms and legs

“You like that one? His limbs are fully articulated,” Teddy informed him. 

Zach blinked at him.

“It means they move.”

“Of course.” Zach picked up a smaller dinosaur and set it down on the floor in front of him, making the tyrannosaurus attack it with a clash of plastic teeth and a half-hearted _rawr_. Teddy watched semi-approvingly, though Zach noted the way his hand hovered, as if he wanted to correct what Zach was doing and was restraining himself. “Will you show me?” Zach offered the toys back to him. As Teddy took them, he demonstrated the killing blow the tyrannosaurus would have made, its jaws coming down on the back of the smaller dinosaur’s neck and, presumably, breaking its back. Brutal.

“Wow you sure have quite the collection here,” Zach commented as he watched.

“Thanks. My daddy buys them for me.”

“He’s a pretty nice daddy to do that.”

“He’s the best.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

Zach looked up to find Chris standing in the doorway. He was wearing a white, terry cloth bathrobe, and his hair was still wet from the shower. “Sorry, man, I’m running a little late,” he explained.

“That’s fine—I’m sure there will be plenty of cheese cubes left for us,” Zach replied.

Chris smirked and entered the room; he crossed to the closet door and opened it. It was filled with adult clothes, Zach saw. “I’ll be quick,” Chris said, emerging with a pair of slacks, some underwear, and a light sweater. 

Zach waved him off. “Take your time. Me and Ted here are having a fine old time.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that, or you’ll never be allowed to leave.” He left the room and shut himself back into the bathroom, where he presumably would get changed.

“Teddy! Come get your dinner, sweetie!” Katie called from the kitchen.

Teddy scrambled to his feet. “I better go,” he said, “it’s chicken!”

“Well, you don’t want to miss out on that,” Zach replied.

“You can play with the dinosaurs if you want, Mr. Zach,” he added magnanimously.

“Thanks.”

Teddy smiled and scampered out of the room; he returned a moment later, picked up Hrothgar, and left again. “I guess he’s not in time out anymore,” Zach commented to himself.

He sat on the floor another moment, reflecting on this environment once more. While the house was humble, the Pine siblings clearly had made a good life for themselves here. Zach was struck by the fact Chris had managed to be more or less on his own, supporting himself and a young child. Surely, it would have been easier for him to live with his parents—from what Zach gathered, they wouldn’t have minded—but he’d stayed independent and built a stable and happy home for his son. It meant something, something significant, Zach thought.

“You like it?” Chris asked, coming into the room. 

“Huh?” Zach realized he’d been staring at the mural painted on Teddy's wall. “Oh. Yeah, it’s really cute.”

“Katie’s friend is a colorist at Disney—she did it for us.” Chris went into the closet and located a pair of loafers, which he dropped onto the floor so he could shove his bare feet into them.

“Who’s the girl?”

“That’s Despina, Teddy's mother.”

“Oh.” Zach’s eyes went back to the image and really took it in. Cartoon or no, she was clearly Teddy's mother, with the dimples and hazel eyes to prove it. “Do you mind my asking—“

“She died,” Chris said shortly, interrupting him. When Zach looked at him, he had his chin tilted up and his jaw set; it was an expression that didn't allow for further questions.

“I’m sorry.”

“Should we go?”

Zach scrambled to his feet and preceded him from the room. Once in the living room, he paused, and Chris passed him, leading the way into the kitchen. Teddy and Katie sat at the table, eating what looked like a pretty excellent dinner of barbecued chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn. Zach’s stomach rumbled.

“OK, we’ve gotta go,” Chris said, kissing them each on the head, and deftly avoiding Teddy's sauce-smeared hands when he reached for a hug.

“Will you be late?” Katie asked.

Chris looked at Zach. “I don’t—“

“I’ll have him home at a respectable hour,” Zach promised. Katie stared at him blankly.

“Bye,” Chris said, and they left the room. 

“I think she hates me,” Zach whispered.

“She hates everyone.”

\----

Zach winced at the harsh acidity of the glass of cheap Chardonnay he'd picked up from the portable catering bar. He set it down on the small café table he and Chris stood beside. “Oh wow is that as horrible as I think it is?”

Chris shrugged and took a swig out of his bottle of Bud. He looked away, scanning the crowd, and Zach suppressed a sigh. The ride over had been similarly nonverbal, with Chris sitting slumped against the door, watching the scenery pass by and barely engaging with what little conversation Zach attempted. Zach, meanwhile, was still reeling from Chris’s revelation. 

_Teddy’s mother had died?!_

Zach didn't know how to begin to parse that information. He'd assumed she had flaked out or something, ditched Chris with the kid when things got tough, or in the most ridiculous scenario he could think of, left the baby in a basket on Chris's doorstep. Never had the possibility of such a profound tragedy entered his mind. Poor Chris. Naturally, now all Zach could think of was what might have happened. Had they been married? How long were they together? Did she love him?

He shook his head to banish the thoughts from his mind; it was still as much not his business as it had been before he found out. 

The discomfort persisted once they arrived at the reception, compounded by the fact that Reid, Patrick, and the others hadn’t arrived yet. Zach was acutely sensitive to this; he didn't want Chris to be uncomfortable or to think Zach had set it up this way. So it was with profound relief that Zach saw Reid’s buzzed head bobbing through the crowd toward them. 

“Hey, there you guys are,” he said affably. They exchanged the obligatory hand shake-shoulder bump combo and Zach suppressed the urge to hug the guy. “I seem to have lost track of the others, but Babar was busy talking up some Swedish girl. I’m pretty sure she’s here with Jack Nicolson, so…”

“He’ll need to drown his sorrows soon,” Zach said.

Reid looked highly amused and laughed. “So what’s up with you guys? Anything new?”

“Nothing new since I saw you three hours ago,” Zach said. Chris merely grunted and hunched his shoulders. 

“Come on, man, why so grumpy?” Reid asked. “There's free crappy domestic beer and all the crab puffs you can eat!”

Chris made a dismissive gesture. “Sorry I’m bringing everyone down. Ugh, just ignore me. Let's look at art.”

“Yeah, ok, 'art,'” Zach muttered, looking around.

That got a laugh. As their drinks were all on empty, Reid offered to go and brave the line at the bar and left Zach to endure another uncomfortable silence. 

“So, I got the CSI gig,” Chris said at last. 

Zach's eyes widened. “What? That's terrific!”

Chris ran a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. Filming starts Monday.” 

“That's soon.” 

“Apparently they cast a guy already, but he had to back out for some Michael Bay movie?” 

Zach rolled his eyes. 

“So yeah, I must have been the only guy who could be bothered to learn the lines for the audition, because you should have seen some of the mouth breathers in the casting agent's office.”

“Hey who cares how it happened? Congratulations man. Is that what's got you down? Because I would be fucking ecstatic.”

Chris opened and closed his mouth but didn't speak. He glanced around as if he was about to impart a secret. “I haven't heard back from the movie yet. The Disney one.”

“Oh?”

“I've already had, like, three callbacks and then _poof!_ no news, and my agent's probably ducking my calls. The worst part is I can't believe I want it this badly—a fricking Disney movie with the word _Princess_ in the title!” His cheeks colored. 

“Hey, a role like that's a big deal, it could open doors for you. No one would blame you for wanting it.” 

“The thing is,” he went on, “it'd only be a couple weeks' work, but I'd make enough to support Teddy and me for over a year. I could quit the restaurant, have more time for my son.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. 

Zach watched him a moment, and stood up straight, determined to cheer him up. “I think this has to be a no news is good news type situation.”

“Oh you do, do you?”

“Well, yeah. They've seen you how many times now? Four?” Chris nodded. “which means they clearly like you. Try not to take it personally is my advice. They've got an entire film to cast, you know?”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, his tone still a bit down, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes. 

“You know it’s true! And in the meantime, you’re the leading psychopath terrorizing the beaches of Miami! That's great! For you anyway. Not so much for the people of Miami.” 

Zach clapped him on the back and Chris laughed, “Boy, it's a good thing nobody's listening to this conversation.”

“Right?”

\----

The following Tuesday, Zach stood in the doorway between his bedroom and his bathroom, staring at their relative disarray, and wondering if he could possibly get away with leaving cleaning for one more week. He had the night off, but literally everyone he knew already had plans or work, and he was bored. But bored enough to clean? 

“No way, man.” 

He trundled downstairs and into the kitchen, stood in front of the fridge and wondered if he was hungry enough to start cooking himself dinner—at 5:00. He was about to go channel surf when his cell phone rang, surprising him. He pulled it from his pocket and was even more surprised to see Chris's number on the display screen.

“Hey,” he greeted. 

“Zach, thank god!” Chris exclaimed, clearly agitated. “Thank god, thank god, thank god!” 

“Hey, calm down. What's up?”

“Man, I hope you can help me and I mean it's prolly a huge imposition, but I really, really am in a huge jam.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve got nothing on tonight. What is it?”

“Well, filming on my episode of _CSI: Miami_ started today, and man I screwed up bigtime! I thought the night shoot was going to be tomorrow night, but it's tonight.”

“OK?”

“Look I wouldn't ordinarily ask this, but Katie's out on a date, and my parents have to be at some charity auction my mom's a chair of or whatever, and I really hate to impose on you, but—“

“But what?”

“Can you watch Teddy?” 

“Oh, uhhh...” Zach wasn't sure he was qualified to take care of a child, not by a long shot. But Chris sounded desperate. “Of course,” he answered with a confidence he had no right to project.

“Really?”

“It’s in the bag.” 

“Oh my god, you're a real lifesaver! Can you get to my house by 5:45? My mom'll let you in. This is such a huge favor, I'll owe you for life.” 

Zach laughed at his effusiveness. “No sweat, man. I'm leaving right now.”

He hung up and took a deep breath—what the hell had he just agreed to?

\----

Zach parked in the street in front of Chris's house to find an old—perhaps 15 years old—yet impeccably well-maintained Mercedes S-class already sitting in the driveway. He noted the child seat in its backseat as he jogged up to the front porch, as well as a host of toys and other childish accessories. He paused at the door to run a hand over his hair and tuck his shirt in, then rang the doorbell. 

“Mr. Zach!” 

He heard Teddy's excited yell through the door and was smiling when the door opened. The woman standing before him was the spitting image of Katie, with the same dark hair and piercing eyes, but she had the ready smile of her son, which she turned on Zach immediately. 

“You must be Zachary,” she said warmly. She was dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress and heels and struggled to prevent Teddy from leaping through the door at Zach. “You’re right on time.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pine.”

“Call me Gwynne, dear. Mrs. Pine was and still is my mother-in-law, even if she's five years dead.”

Zach couldn't help but laugh as she stepped back to allow him to enter.

“Mr. Zach!!!!” Teddy repeated again once Zach was in range, coming up to him and heaving his small body against Zach, arms reaching around his hips. 

“Oof!” Zach bent forward in reaction, resting a free hand on the boy’s shoulder to steady himself; an inch to the left and Teddy would’ve taken out his balls. “Hey there, buddy!”

Teddy craned his head up to look at him, a joyous expression on his face. “I’m so 'cited you're here!”

Zach was touched to get this kind of reaction from anyone; a warm feeling lodged itself in his chest and wouldn't subside. “Aw, me too!”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to worry about this one being shy around you,” Gwynne said, crossing the room to the couch to retrieve her purse. “Have you been here before?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zach said with a nod, extricating himself from Teddy's grasp.

“He should eat by 6:30 and bedtime’s anytime between 8:00 and 9:00. A bath is probably optional—wouldn’t want to subject you to that. Don’t let him con you into not brushing his teeth, either.”

Zach gave Teddy a shocked look, and the boy looked placidly back at him with an angelic expression on this face.

“I’ve left my cell phone number on a Post-it on the refrigerator in case anything goes wrong. I know Christopher won’t be reachable.” She walked back toward him. “Thank you for stepping in, Zachary, I couldn’t get out of my plans for the evening.”

“Do not worry about it, I’m glad I could help.”

She smiled warmly and squeezed his arm before heading for the door, leaving the scent of Chanel No. 5 hanging on the air in her wake.

Zach and Teddy stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Zach wondered what the hell he was doing and Teddy--well, little boys were pretty predictable as it turned out. 

“You wanna play dinosaurs?” he asked hopefully. 

Zach raised an eyebrow and looked down at him. “Is it time for playing dinosaurs, or should we maybe think about making dinner like your grandmother said?”

“Dinner?” 

“Dinner.” 

Zach went into the kitchen, exploring the cabinets and the fridge, wracking his brain over what to make. Sure, there were hot dogs and frozen chicken fingers and things, but they didn't seem very dinnery to him. A butter dish and a lone, green can standing in the door of the fridge gave him an idea—more like a memory—of the kinds of comfort food his mother used to make him when he was Teddy's age. “What are your thoughts on pasta my young friend?”

“I like scabetti and meatballs.”

“Cool. How would you like some scabetti and cheese?”

Teddy nodded vigorously. Zach located some pans and found some already cut-up salad veggies in a plastic bag in the fridge and got to work. Teddy sat in a chair where a colorful booster seat was already set up to watch. 

“You know when I was a little kid like you, my mom used to make this for me at least once a week. I loved it that much.” He filled a pot with water and put it on the stove. “She's a good mom like that.”

“I don't got a mom, I got a Aunt Katie.”

Zach found a cutting board and sliced up a tomato. “I know, and she seems pretty cool. I'll bet she makes you good dinners, too.”

Teddy nodded vigorously. “She's a good cooker.” 

“What's your favorite?”

Teddy cocked his head to the side and pressed a finger into his chin, giving it some thought. “Tacos.” 

“Just like your daddy, huh?”

Teddy nodded and Zach finished assembling the salad, then the ingredients he’d need for the pasta. When the water came to a boil, he added the spaghetti and a generous portion of salt and gave it a stir. “You like salad?”

“It's ok.” 

“That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement,” Zach said. 

Teddy sighed the sigh of the persecuted. “They’re begetables, Mr. Zach.”

“Ha! How about I make some of my mom’s special dressing and you see if you like it then?” Teddy looked skeptical. “Aw come on, you'll never learn if you like something unless you try!”

Teddy laid himself down over the surface of the table, covering his face with his arms.

“They’re just vegetables.”

Teddy made strangling noises.

“I’ll bet if you were a sauropod you’d love my salad.”

“I _would_ be an herbivore.”

“See? And the vegetables would make you grow really big and strong, like big enough to squish a velociraptor with your toes.”

“I don’t think they were alive at the same time, Mr. Zach.”

“Yeah, OK, but you would still be really big, though. Just try it? For me?”

Teddy made a show of thinking about it, crossing his arms and resting his pointed chin in one of his hands. “OK, Mr. Zach,” he said magnanimously.

“Terrific!”

Zach whipped up the dressing—nothing more than white vinegar and oil with a spoon of sugar and some salt and pepper. He stirred the pasta and eyed the clock. Everything would be ready soon. “Where are the dishes?”

Teddy pointed at a cabinet and Zach set the table, then found a bowl to toss the pasta in. 

“You know the secret to good pasta, Teddy?” 

“What?”

“Not too much sauce. Here I'll show you.” He drained the pasta in the sink and threw it into the bowl, then took the butter, Parmesan cheese can, and a set of tongs over to the table. He cut a knob of butter off—perhaps a third of the stick—and tossed it in the bowl. 

“That doesn't look like enough,” Teddy said.

“We'll see,” Zach said, adding a bunch of cheese then tossing it all together with the tongs. “The secret with this is not to let the butter sit on the hot pasta or else it melt and get greasy. You want it to stay creamy.” He tossed it some more, demonstrating. “It needs more cheese, what do you think?

“I like cheese.”

Zach smiled. “Thought you would.” 

Zach finished tossing it all and went and got the salad, then served them both and sat down. Teddy twirled a bit of pasta around his fork using both hands and put it in his mouth. His concentration on the task was absolute, and Zach found it adorable. He put it into his mouth and chewed tentatively.

“How do you like it?” Zach asked, genuinely concerned with pleasing him. 

“It's good!” He dove right back into it, eating forkful after forkful.

Zach smiled, proud, and tucked into his own. It reminded him of home, except for one detail. “Remind me one of these days to bring your daddy some real Parmigiano-Reggiano, ok?

“What's that?” Teddy asked around another mouthful. 

“The good stuff. Now try your salad.”

\----

Once dinner was cleared and the dishes washed, Zach let Teddy con him into an extended bout of playing with his toy dinosaurs. Zach took a few of the smaller ones and lined them up in ranks, an activity Teddy seemed to approve of. Then he grabbed a larger toy—one with _articulated limbs_ —and made it walk up and down in front of them, saying,

“If we are mark’d to die, we are enow  
To do our country loss; and if to live,  
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.  
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.  
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,  
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;  
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;  
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.  
But if it be a sin to covet honour,  
I am the most offending soul alive.”

He looked up at Teddy, who watched him with an odd expression on his face.

“What? You don’t think a pterodactyl should play Hal?” Perhaps the St. Crispin’s Day speech from _Henry V_ was a bit over his head.

“You’re weird, Mr. Zach.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I like weird.” 

Zach smiled. “Good.”

They played until 8:00, and then it was time to get ready for bed. Teddy showed Zach where to find pajamas, and even brushed his teeth without being prompted. 

“OK, I guess hop in?” Zach said, holding a corner of the bedcovers up. When the boy was settled, he tucked him in. “Good night, little man,” he said, ruffling his hair.

“Good night, Mr. Zach.”

“Do you need a night light or anything?”

“Just leave Mr. Clown on,” Teddy said, pointing at an old lamp atop the dresser. 

Zach complied, shut the overhead light off, and left the door slightly ajar. “Sleep well.”

He surveyed the damage in the living room and kitchen and straightened things up that remained out of place—he wouldn’t want Chris and Katie to come home and find the place in disarray. Then he grabbed the copy of _Daily Variety_ that sat on the coffee table and parked himself on the couch, prepared to read.

“Mr. Zach?”

Zach looked up to find Teddy standing in the hall just outside the living room. 

“Something wrong? You need a glass of water?”

Teddy shook his head. “Can you read me a story?”

“Of course.”

He held up a book. “Can you read me this story?”

Zach smiled; of course the kid came prepared; it seemed to be an innate trait. “Sure. Come on over here.” 

Teddy ran over and climbed up onto the couch beside him, curling against his side as Zach took the book. It was an illustrated storybook of the film _The Land Before Time_ —dinosaurs, naturally—and not very well written, but Teddy seemed to like it. Zach treated it like a table read, lending voices and emotion in all the right bits. When he was done, Teddy asked him to read it again, and he obliged, but the boy was asleep before Zach got to the good part.

Zach looked down on the sleeping child and the warm feeling he’d experienced earlier in the evening when Teddy had been so happy to see him took hold again. He thought he could understand why people would choose to have kids, especially if they were as fun and smart as this one. He marveled at how fully-formed Teddy’s personality was, how alike he and his father were, and yet so different. They were like a perfect couple, almost, each one complementing the other in a variety of ways. For example, where Chris was easy-going and friendly, Ted seemed to be more careful and deliberate. Zach wondered if Chris’s behavior was learned, like he’d had to figure out how to be a bit more open with his thoughts and emotions because he had chosen to be an actor. He hoped someday to be allowed to figure it out.

Teddy snorted softly in his sleep, and Zach dropped an arm around his small shoulders. He was a warm, solid little weight against him, and Zach didn’t want to disturb him to take him to bed. He set the book aside, picked up the paper again, and began to read.

\----

It was the rattle of a set of keys that woke him. Zach started, confused for a moment by being in a strange place. 

“Hey there,” Chris said with a smile, closing the front door behind him. “How’d it go?”

“Great. I mean, fine. How’d it go for you?”

Chris rolled his eyes and Zach noticed the exhaustion pulling the corners of his eyes down. “It went. You know how it is, you’re a guest actor so no one really wants to get to know you, so they ignore you. Except for the makeup lady complaining about my eyebrows of all things, I spent the entire day feeling invisible.”

“What? They’re nice eyebrows!” Zach protested.

“That’s what I said, but apparently they lack definition. Whatever that means.” He shook his head and came to stand by the couch. 

“You’ve got a little something,” Zach said, brushing his thumb against his own lower lip.

Chris reached up and removed the fake lip ring. “Is this the dumbest thing you’ve ever seen?” Chris asked, holding it in the palm of his hand. Zach didn’t think anything that pulled focus to Chris’s lips was necessarily a bad thing, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Can’t believe I forgot to take it off, it was giving me problems all damn day. The wardrobe mistress is going to have my hide.” He looked down and smiled when he saw his sleeping child. “I see he conned you into reading _Land Before Time_?”

“Twice,” Zach said, sitting up a little. He’d been sprawled against the back of the couch with Teddy’s head resting on his stomach, and the movement disturbed the boy. He opened his eyes, blinking against the light with a frown on his face. 

“Hey there, sprout,” Chris said fondly.

“Daddy!” Teddy smiled sleepily and held out his arms. Chris leaned in and picked him up, holding him close with Teddy’s sleepy head resting on his shoulder. Zach wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more adorable image in his life.

“Well, I’m gonna take him to bed but I’ll be right back—you want to stay for a beer?”

“Sure.” 

Chris moved off and Zach went to the kitchen to grab a couple bottles from the fridge; he wandered down the hall towards Teddy’s bedroom and was in time to see Chris holding Teddy up to kiss the painting of his mother good night. 

“Oof, you’re almost getting too big for me to do this,” Chris said fondly before depositing his son into the bed. He kissed Teddy on the head and tucked him in, before standing and looking at Zach with a smile.

“Thanks again for babysitting,” he said, walking toward him to take the beer Zach offered.

“I had a surprisingly fun time,” Zach said truthfully.

Chris looked relieved and led the way from the room, closing the door behind him.

They settled on the couch and drank from their bottles in silence for a short while. “You know, he’s really a great kid,” Zach felt compelled to say; he needed for Chris to know he thought this.

“I think so,” Chris said archly, but he was clearly pleased to hear it. He looked at Zach thoughtfully for a moment, then slouched down and looked up at the ceiling. “Teddy’s mother and I were high school sweethearts,” he said without prompting. “Despina Aphrodite Theodora Georgiou was her name, but I called her ‘Desi.’ She transferred into our school junior year and I fell in love immediately. God, she was gorgeous. And smart and a real ballbuster and every guy wanted to date her. Don’t ask me why she picked me, the four-eyed, pizza-faced loser with his head always buried in a book, but she did. God, I still don’t understand it.” 

_Don’t you?_ Zach wanted to say, but he held his tongue.

“We did all the normal stuff, you know—proms and dating and stuff, then graduation. Most kids decided to break up the summer before college, and we tried it, we really did. I was going up to Berkeley and she got into CalTech and we wouldn’t see each other every day, so it made logical sense. But we were both miserable, and by Thanksgiving that year, we were back together. We belonged together, you know?” He turned his head and looked at Zach, eyes wide and searching.

Zach nodded, because some response was called for, but he had a lump in his throat because he already knew how this story ended. He took another sip of his beer for something to do, barely tasting it.

“She got pregnant over winter break,” Chris went on. “We always used condoms, but you know, I guess one broke and we didn’t notice. Anyway, we talked about it for a long time, whether to keep it or not. It was the most surreal night of my life, I think. I mean, it was her body, her decision, but she really cared about how I felt, what I wanted. In the end, we decided to go for it.”

“You loved each other,” Zach said.

Chris smiled sadly and went back to looking at the ceiling. “Yeah.” He began to scrape the label off the bottle with his thumbnail.

“What happened?” Zach said, not sure he wanted to know.

“It was Fourth of July weekend. She was driving home from a family party, and her car was T-boned by some drunk in a Ford Bronco. By the time I got to the hospital, she was gone and I had a son.”

“Jesus.”

“It was both the worst and the best day of my life.”

Zach watched Chris staring at the ceiling for long moments, neither of them spoke. A shrill, electronic sound broke the silence—Chris’s cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the number. “My agent,” he said, frowning at it. “What could she want at eleven thirty at night?”

“Maybe it’s good news,” Zach said, finding his voice.

Chris rolled his eyes, but answered the phone. “Hello?” He rose and walked into the kitchen, leaving Zach in the unenviable position of actively trying not to eavesdrop while also attempting not to cry like a baby after the tragic story he’d just heard. He opted to give in to the first option. 

“Yeah, but what does that mean, exactly? They’ve already seen me four times,” Chris said. He sounded exasperated, and Zach couldn’t exactly blame him. He talked for another minute or so, though his responses weren’t much more illuminating, and finally hung up. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding the phone in both hands, looking confused and slightly annoyed at the same time. “They want me for the Disney movie, they just need me to come in for a chemistry read. Or something,” he said.

“What? That’s great news. Chris!”

“Is it?” 

“Of course it is, it means you got the job!”

“Pending the chemistry read, though.”

Zach waved his hand. “A technicality. You don’t think you can be as charming as any prince?”

“I don’t think I was born to be charming.”

“That’s what you think. Now go over to that refrigerator and grab some more beers. We are celebrating!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris starts work on Princess Diaries 2, and sparks fly with Anne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @thatmysticbafflingwonder, @sweetladyjustice, and @llongwayfromhome for their help and guidance for a /certain/ scene.
> 
> Note: I know nothing about making movies, only what I’ve seen on television, so this is likely to be highly inaccurate.

Chris sighed, resting a hand over his nervously-shaking leg to quiet it. He was sitting in the waiting area of the casting office for the production of _The Princess Diaries 2_ , and every time he let his mind wander just a bit, the nervous tic started up again. He tried unsuccessfully to go over his lines for the scene he was about to perform, but his mind drifted to his agent Mandy’s parting words to him that morning. 

_“Listen, they like you, all you have to do is hit it off with the lead actress, impress the lead casting agent, charm the director, and it’s in the bag. Did I mention Dame Julie Andrews might be there?”_

Chris’s reaction may have been, “Meep!” but he could no longer recall; mostly all he remembered was the blood thrumming in his ears. 

_“Don’t fuck this up, Christopher, I need it as badly as you,”_ had been Mandy’s last bit of friendly advice. 

If they liked him, he’d be set; the salary they’d pay him would support him and Teddy for a year at least. He could quit one of his jobs and have his weekends, if not his nights, free to spend with his son. It was also an important production at a major studio, the kind of thing that got actors like him noticed. 

He had no doubts: this was the most important audition of his life.

“Chris?”

Marcia, the casting director for the film, stood in the doorway with a kind smile on her face. He rose and walked over to her, his heart beating a mile a minute. Something in his face must have betrayed his inner turmoil, because she rubbed his upper arm as soon as he got close enough. “Hey, you all right?” she asked. 

“Sure, um—“ He dropped the script pages he held, bent over to retrieve them, then dropped his pen, then his sunglasses fell out of his shirt pocket, and finally he dropped his car keys. “I’m not so sure,” he admitted.

She laughed warmly. “Aww, don’t worry—they’ll love you just like everyone else has loved you from the moment we saw you. Come on in.” She led him inside to a small sound stage, with full lighting and cameras set up at one end, and a folding table and chairs at the other end. Chris recognized Marcia’s assistant Jonathan inside, already seated, and there was another assistant whose name he didn't know, as well as a cameraman, a sound guy, and a boom operator. “As you can see, no one else has quite arrived, but I know Garry’s somewhere around the place and should be here soon—“ 

She was interrupted when a door at the far end of the room opened, letting in the man in question. Garry Marshall was tanned, relaxed, and dressed in tennis whites. He was in his late 60’s, but he exuded a kind of manic energy that was infectious. He greeted everyone in the room with a kiss on both cheeks and, more often than not, a squeeze of the shoulder or a pat on the cheek. 

“Garry, I want you to meet Chris Pine, he’s reading for Nicholas today,” Marcia said, bringing Chris over to the director. 

Chris straightened his spine and smiled his best smile, trying to appear relaxed and likable and fearing he was failing. This was the director of _Pretty Woman_ , for god’s sake! Chris wondered if Julia Roberts felt like this. The director switched his sunglasses out for regular ones and looked Chris up and down shrewdly. Chris was beginning to feel like a horse on the auction block. 

“Look at him, he’s like a regular Disney Prince over here, just add water and mix,” Marshall said in his Bronx growl, consonants dropping left and right even though he’d lived in Hollywood for the last fifty years. 

“Yes, Mr. Marshall,” Chris said, feeling his ears begin to redden. 

“And respectful too, I like that. Marcia tells me good things about you, kid, good things. You’re Bob Pine’s boy, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“A good man, your father, a real trouper. That’s what we called them in my day—troupers. What do they call ‘em now?” 

“Employed? Sir?” Chris said. 

Marshall roared with laughter, throwing an arm around Chris’s shoulders and squeezing his cheeks together with one large hand, his ruby pinky ring glinting in the klieg lights. “You’re all right, kid, now let’s see whatcha got, eh? Where’s our leading lady?”

“I just got word she’s on her way,” Marcia said. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

“All right, all right,” Garry said approvingly. “Tell me kid, ya got the _stugots_ it takes for this?”

Chris thought. “I want to say yes?”

Garry laughed and patted his cheek. “You’re cute, I like ya.”

“Hi, everyone, I’m sorry I’m a little late,” a new voice said from the doorway. 

Chris turned toward the voice, along with everyone else, and saw a dark-haired young woman walking into the room. She stopped when she saw him, and they stared at each other, eyes wide with surprise; she was the girl who’d conned him out of the chocolate birthday cake at the Ralph’s a few weeks back. 

They each raised a hand, pointing at the other. Anne—Chris had not forgotten her name—spoke first, “It’s you!”

“It… is,” Chris answered slowly, amazed at how small a town this was turning out to be.

“You know each other?” Garry asked.

Anne’s eyes lit up with good humor and she crossed her arms. “This is the guy who’s up for Nicholas? Because I dunno about him, Garry, he’s got a pretty heavy pastry addiction.”

Chris feigned indignation. “I’ll have you know I only eat cupcakes socially.”

Anne looked mock-impressed. “Well, at least you’re working on yourself. But is that a cruller in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

They both laughed at the joke, and Anne stepped closer. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s you, how cool! How’s your little boy?”

Chris was impressed she remembered. “He’s really good, thanks. And how is your friend? The one with the birthday?”

“One year older.”

“Ha!”

“Seeing as it’s old home week, do you two think we can get this show on the road?” Garry asked grumpily.

“Aw, come on, we’re just breaking the ice, Garry-Bear,” Anne cooed as she bent forward to kiss him on the cheek.

The old man’s face colored and he grinned as he captured her arm fondly. “All right, I can never even _fake_ being mad at my Annie-Banannie. Let’s get set up, huh?”

With that, Garry and the others moved over to sit at the tables, leaving Chris and Anne alone for a moment.

“Garry-Bear?” Chris asked her in a low voice.

She shrugged. “He cast me in my first film,” she said sheepishly. “It means a lot.”

Chris smiled and followed her over to the space in the small soundstage that had been lit for them, in full view of the camera and the audience. It took a few minutes for the room to settle, so Chris and Anne stood waiting patiently.

“Have you learned the lines?” Anne asked.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got them down,” Chris said his previous nervousness disappearing. Then he laughed, remembering his attempts at rehearsals. “I wanted to rehearse them, but none of my friends wanted to stand in for Mia, so I used my son’s stuffed hippo.” It was true—Patrick and Babar had flatly refused, and even Katie had refused to let him rehearse the archery scene with her, so Chris had been reduced to using Duchess Blitherington-Poppycock. He perched her atop the vacuum cleaner handle for height. Teddy had not been able to stop laughing.

“That’s not _too awkward,_ ” Anne commented.

“Right? I mean, it’s this sort of white, plush animal, about yay big, dressed in a ball gown.”

Anne giggled. 

“I mean, she’s hot and all, but she’s just not my type,” Chris went on, warming up. “She’s a bit cold and aloof, you know, being a part of the aristocracy. I thought we could at least make a go of it, transcend our differences in status and upbringing, but alas. It was not meant to be.” He mocked a mournful expression.

Anne snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand and giggled harder. 

“I think she loves another; I swear I saw her making eyes at Big Bird, and I can’t say I blame her. He’s tall. Famous. Probably better in bed.”

By this time, Anne was hanging off his shoulder, laughing helplessly. “Oh my God, stop,” she begged, and Chris let himself laugh too.

“If you two are quite through, maybe we could begin?” Garry interjected, but he was faking his exasperation if Chris was reading him right. 

“Oh, hello, are there other people in the room?” Anne said, but she quickly got into position, taking up a toy bow that sat on the floor, a prop for the scene. She shook the hair out of her eyes and was all seriousness, slipping into her character with all the ease of pulling on a favorite sweatshirt. Chris supposed it would be this easy; she’d played Mia before, but he was also struck by her obvious professionalism. She was younger than him, but clearly serious about her work, and he took the mental note to heart.

“Ready?” Garry called out. They both nodded. “Action!”

Chris paused a moment, calling up his impressions and emotions for the scene. He took a tentative step toward her, hands raised as if already helping Mia, then dropped them self-consciously. “Would you like some help?” he asked kindly. Anne nodded, looking every bit the unsure ingénue. He handed her an imaginary arrow as indicated in the stage directions and she pretended to thread it onto the bow, which was almost comically tiny. Chris liked the ridiculousness—it suited his mood and his take on the scene, which he thought depicted a romantic moment of promise in the midst of some pretty silly circumstances. 

He positioned himself behind her, evaluating. “Take your stance,” he suggested.

Anne aimed the imaginary arrow. Chris reached out and laid a light hand on her arm, stepping into her personal space. “Keep your elbow down. Use your mouth as an anchor.”

Anne balked, leaning back to look at him. Her eyes were deep brown highlighted with gold, like chestnuts, and as large as Chris could remember seeing on anyone. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“Touch your mouth,” he said in a low voice, as one might use to assure a spooked horse, or to seduce a woman. He reached up and placed his hand over hers where she held the bow. “Relax this hand a bit.” He rested his other hand on her right shoulder, squeezing, then ran his hand down her arm to adjust it, all the while, not taking his eyes off of hers. Neither of them blinked. “Touch your mouth,” he said again.

She turned her head and allowed the heel of her thumb to brush against her lips. He could smell her hair now—it smelled like coconut. 

“And… release,” he whispered, like a lover. 

When she let the bit of elastic that served as a bowstring on the toy go, it made a half-hearted snapping sound against her hand which she ignored. They watched the imaginary arrow fly, both their bodies tight with the tension of the moment. They each reacted to it hitting its target at the same time.

“Oh!” Anne said, amazed. She jumped up, once, like an excitable colt, and turned to face him. She radiated joy.

“How did that feel?”

“Wonderful!” she said, brimming with pride in her accomplishment. Then she looked into his eyes again and her smile faded into something else. “Wonderful,” she breathed. 

He leaned over, licking his lips, she leaned forward until he could taste her breath. Chris could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he stared at her parted lips. Blinking as if catching herself, she stepped away and the moment was broken. 

“I have to go anyway,” he said, feeling regret that was his own in addition to Nicholas’s. “I only came back to pack.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I think it’s time I bowed out of the succession gracefully.”

She stared at him, a mixture of emotions in her eyes: gratitude, surprise, disappointment. She turned to walk away.

“Mia?” he called after her. She turned, looking mournful. Though it wasn’t in the stage direction, Chris stepped forward and took her hand. He stared down at her fingers, long and elegant in his, and caressed the backs of them with his thumb. “Can I see you one more time?”

“They watch me like a hawk.”

“I’ll find a way,” he promised, and the spark of hope in her eyes almost made him believe it was real.

“Cut! That’s a cut!” Garry called. 

Chris leaned forward impulsively and kissed Anne’s hand before letting it drop. “Thank you, that was great,” he said to her.

She laughed and turned to face those assembled. “So would you say we’ve got our Nicholas?” she asked.

\----

“I got it,” Chris said breathlessly the moment he got home. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d booked his first film, and it was at a major studio.

Katie looked up, startled, and paused whatever she was watching on the TV. “You got it?”

“I got it!”

His sister looked down at Teddy, who sat cuddled against her side. “He got it!”

“Hurray!” Teddy said, clapping. “Got what?”

“I got the part I auditioned for,” Chris explained. He dropped his bag in the foyer and came over to kneel on the floor in front of the couch, facing Teddy. “I’m going to be in a movie.”

“Like Elmo?”

Chris laughed and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, buddy, just like Elmo.” He noticed there was a bowl of popcorn on the couch between Katie and Teddy, so he grabbed a handful and shoved it into his mouth. “What are you watching?” He picked up a nearby DVD case and turned it over. There, on the cover, was the face of his now co-star. “Princess Diaries? Katie, come on!”

“What? I knew you’d get it and I needed to know the back story – how else am I gonna know what’s going on in the sequel? The more nuanced aspects of the complex social strata of Genoa?” 

“The place is called Genovia,” he corrected her. “If you must disparage fictional European countries, get it right.”

She laughed, then stood up to throw her arms around his neck. “I’m so proud of you, I could just spit. What do you want for dinner? I’ll make you whatever you want.”

“You’re not cooking me anything—tonight we’re going out, and it’s my treat. As long as my treat’s tacos or burgers, though, it’s not like they’re paying me yet.”

\----

Filming started six weeks later, leaving not a lot of time for Chris to prep, at least by Hollywood movie-making standards. There were rehearsals and wardrobe fittings and all of it had to happen really quickly. He wound up quitting both his jobs because the scheduling of it was so erratic. 

Not that he minded—his family was willing to pitch in whenever necessary, and the net of it was he actually had more time for Teddy. Getting up in the mornings was now so much more joyful, and he felt a real sense of purpose each day that he never, ever thought he needed. 

One morning, he was told to report to a smallish studio. As he walked in, he noted a barre and mirrors set along one wall and realized it was a dance space. There were four other actors already there, all of them men, and a boy of about 11 or 12. He went to join them. “So, dancing, I guess,” he said by way of breaking the ice. 

“Yes,” one of the others, who’d introduced himself as Jess, said. He was tall—possibly 6-foot 7—and a stand-up comic, apparently; he’d never acted before. “Because when you look at this body, you think grace and fluidity of motion.

“I hope it will be salsa!” Spencer, the kid, said. “I’ve been taking Latin dance lessons!”

Chris looked down at him, amused. “Really.”

“Wanna see?” He busted out a demonstration that seemed serviceable enough, pivoting his narrow hips back and forth as he moved his feet in tight little arrangements, hands poised in the air as if holding an imaginary partner. 

Not that Chris knew the difference. “That’s pretty good!” he commended.

“Thank you! I want to be able to add as many things as I can to my resume before I’m thirteen, and ballroom dancing is one of them!”

“Well, you’ll never know when you’ll need it,” Jess pointed out.

“Exactly! I get to dance with the princess.”

“I think we all do,” Chris pointed out.

“Yeah, but none of you are short enough to stare at her boobs the whole time!”

“Oooh-kaaay,” Chris said as Jess burst out laughing.

Their conversation was cut short when four women entered. Their leader was older, perhaps nearing 40, with dark olive skin and her long black hair plaited into a braid that hung down her back. She reminded Chris of his ninth grade Spanish teacher Miss Alvarez, who he still had an unrequited crush on. All of the women were dressed in leotards, with long flowing skirts and dancing shoes on. She and her companions stood in front of the mirrors, facing them all with perfect poise. 

“Good morning gentlemen,” she said with a charming smile. Chris thought he detected a faint French accent in the way she pronounced the second “e” in “gentlemen.” 

“Welcome to our little waltz tutorial. My name is Vivian, and I am the choreographer for the film. As you will all be paired with Anne as dance partners, I have been asked to teach you the basics of the waltz for the palace ball scene.”

There arose a collective groan from some of those assembled, though Chris did not join in. He'd tagged along once or twice as a boy when Katie had gone to ballet class, and it had always fascinated him. This could be interesting. 

“How many of you have ever had a dance lesson?” Vivian asked after they had all introduced themselves. Spencer’s hand shot up, as did another actor’s. 

“Why are we even doing this?” Jess asked. I thought these scenes were supposed to be played for comedy.” 

“Yes, they are,” Vivian agreed. Chris detected a faint lisp and began to crush a little harder. “But in order to play a scene for laughs, you must first understand what it is you are lampooning, no?”

“I suppose,” Jess replied, but he didn't look too pleased. 

“All right then, we will begin with the basics of the box step. You will step forward, then glide to the side, then bring your other foot together and close.” She raised her arms and demonstrated, counting the steps off slowly; her assistants, now spread out at the front of the room, did likewise. “Then you will do the same thing in reverse, like so,” Vivian said. “Back, side, close.” She demonstrated it once more, then asked them all to try. Chris didn’t feel very coordinated when he brought his feet together, but he didn’t feel too bad. Jess, whose feet were enormous, seemed to be having a harder time of it.

“Very good, gentlemen, very good,” Vivian said approvingly. She had been moving along with them, and Chris tried to match her step-for-step. “Now we will add a quarter turn to the right, like so!” She demonstrated, and Chris naturally turned the wrong way, bumping into Jess and kind of bouncing off him. 

“Sorry, man, sorry!” Chris said and struggled to get caught up.

“Your other right, Christopher,” Vivian called to him and winked. 

The turning bit was more of a challenge for Chris at least, but eventually they all seemed to be on the same page.

“Very good!” Vivian said, and stopped. They faced the front of the room. “Now we will practice the same steps but with the proper posture. You will lift your arms so that your elbows are parallel to the floor, like so. You will then extend your upper body to lift your rib cage forward. Keep your backs straight and those butts in tight.”

“Oh, my butt’s good and tight,” Jess assured her, to a frisson of laughter. 

“Are you sure?” Vivian said with a wink and everyone really started laughing. 

Despite the fact most of them were learning something they’d never tried before, Chris loved the tone Vivian had set for the lesson. It wasn’t stuffy, and her easy-going attitude made everyone feel comfortable. He was even beginning to have fun. 

“All right, now do the steps I taught you with your arms up and your bodies aligned. One-two-three. One-two-three. Heads up! One-two-three.” As they went on, Vivian moved around the room, correcting form.

“Very good, very good,” she commented to Spencer, who squirmed with pleasure. 

When she got to Chris she laid light fingers on his shoulder blades. “Lift your torso up and out. Good. You will pull your butt in tight, eh Christopher?” 

He did as instructed, but she frowned. 

“In, in!” She smacked him on the ass playfully, making him jump.

“Ow!” he said, more out of surprise than pain.

“Oh I see you are already, carry on,” she said and winked. 

Chris laughed but drew his hips forward a bit more. She nodded approvingly and moved on.

A few minutes later, they were ready to take partners. Vivian called one of her assistants over to demonstrate. “You place your right hand on her shoulder blade, not her waist, do you see?” she said. “And she places her left hand on your arm above your bicep. You clasp hands like so. Now you align your right side to her right side.” The two women lined themselves up and it looked stiff and uncomfortable at first until they started to dance. They looked like they were flowing together like a gentle wave in the ocean. Soon they were gliding around the room, making it all look completely effortless. When they stopped, Chris couldn’t help but applaud, and he was joined by the others.

“Yes, very nice,” Vivian said. “Now you all try, with a partner.”

Vivian and her assistants fanned out, she pairing up with Spencer, but it soon became clear they were one partner short, as Chris stood there alone. Shrugging, he went to stand by the door and watched the others pick their way through the steps.

“Won’t they let you join in their reindeer games?”

Chris turned, surprised, to find Anne standing next to him. She, too, was dressed for dancing, in a black leotard, black tights, and a diaphanous blue skirt that floated around her knees. She wore her hair in pigtails that were rolled up into buns atop her head; she looked like she was Spencer’s age. “What are you doing here?”

“Working with another choreographer in the studio across the hall,” she said. “Wanted to improve my waltz before we started filming—it’s been a while.”

“You dance?”

She shrugged. “I’ve taken ballet since I was a toddler, but the ballroom stuff—it’s a whole other thing.”

“I haven’t taken a single lesson before this in my life.”

“No, I’m shocked.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not. But you should practice—the ballroom scene’s going to take two weeks to film. There will be a lot of dancing.”

Across the room, Vivian was admonishing Spencer to keep his eyes off her breasts.

“Well, I would, but I haven’t got a partner.”

“Ah, well. Let’s remedy that, shall we?” Anne held out a hand and he took it. She led him to a spot nearer the others and stood at the ready. Her posture was perfectly straight and, from what Chris could tell, her form was perfect as she extended her head back on her long, graceful neck. He stepped closer and laid one hand on her back, lightly, and she took his hand. “Elbows up more,” she said. “And come on, hold me tighter.”

He did as instructed, but it felt odd to do it, strangely intimate to have her body pressed so tightly to his. There was no doubt he found her attractive, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about the chemistry they’d had together during his final audition. Holding her close was nice, maybe too nice. He had never had this problem with other actors he’d worked with at school. 

He pushed such thoughts from his mind—if he was going to be an actor, he needed to behave professionally. He ground his teeth together determinedly and held her even tighter.

“Good. That’s good,” Anne said as they began to dance slowly. “Only maybe try to smile or something—you look constipated!”

\----

Rehearsals progressed well, and Chris was learning more and more each day about being on a movie set and what to do and where to stand, and most importantly, to avoid the breakfast burritos from craft services. He got to meet John Rhys-Davies, who would play his uncle, and when he learned this was Chris’s first film, he started giving him lots of tips and tricks about his technique that were really helpful. 

One morning close to when shooting was to begin, he had only one item listed on his schedule. It wasn’t labeled, there was just a location at the studio and a time, but whatever it was would take the entire morning. Figuring it had to do with yet more costume fittings, he thought nothing of it. 

The room he’d been sent to was in the makeup department, where he found two women in their early 60s waiting for him. 

“Would you look at this, look what they sent us, Hallie,” one of the two women who were waiting for him said. She was tall and slender, with greying blond hair arranged in an elegant chignon and a pair of reading glasses she wore on a bejeweled chain around her neck. She made a show of putting them on to check Chris out.

The second woman, shorter and on the plump side, turned around to look at him. She also wore glasses, and her nearly white hair was cut into a short, no-nonsense bob. “Which one is this, Carolyn?” she asked.

“Mr. Christopher Pine,” Carolyn read off a sheet on a clipboard. “He’s playing Nicholas.”

“He looks just like a Beatle,” Hallie said, clasping her hands together under her chin, “just look at that hair.”

“Yes,” Carolyn said as her eyes narrowed, giving him a considering look. “We’ll need to take care of that.” She stepped over to a makeup chair and turned it around to face him. Chris stared at it. “Well don’t just stand there, young man, we clearly have our work cut out for us.”

“I—uhh… do I get a say? At all?” 

The two women looked at each other, then back at him, and laughed. 

\----

“Oh. Oh my,” Hallie said. As it turned out, she was in charge of the makeup department for all the actors on the film except for Miss Andrews and Anne, and Carolyn was her counterpart in the hair department. She frowned.

“What?”

She peered closer at him. This close up, the thick glasses she wore really magnified her large brown eyes, making her seem not unlike a troubled basset hound. 

Chris’s stomach churned and he raised a self-conscious hand to cover the scars on his cheek. “I, um, had really bad acne as a kid—“

“Oh my, dear! No, it’s not that,” she said, gently taking his hand down and patting it. “You should never worry about that.” She smiled kindly, then pointed higher on his face. “What I’m referring to are these brows.”

Chris was confused. “My _eye_ brows?”

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever said anything to you?”

“They’re eyebrows.” They were a part of his face he literally never thought about for a single moment in his entire life, not even that time in ninth grade when he and his cousin Mark messed around with a can of hairspray and a lighter.

“They’re a distraction.” 

She turned away to order one of her assistants to get something, then turned back to him. “It’ll only take me a moment.” She manipulated something on the chair and Chris was looking up at the ceiling as the chair dropped him abruptly into a horizontal position. 

“Whoa!” he said, his hands shooting out to grip the chair’s arms.

She grabbed a small comb and a pair of scissors from her makeup toolbox and began to comb through his eyebrows, frowning in concentration as she snipped random hairs. He blinked as she blew them away, but thought, _This isn’t so bad, I can deal with this._ He closed his eyes so no small hairs would fall in his eyes; he had his contacts in so it would be unpleasant if any got stuck on them.

A minute later, he heard one of the assistants arrive, and the solid _thunk_ of something being left on the counter nearby. Opening his eyes, he saw it was a small pot of something. Hallie turned away briefly, fiddling with it, and when she bent over him again, she was wielding what looked like a narrow Popsicle stick with some kind of green stuff oozing from it. 

“What the hell is that?” Chris said, probably not in his manliest voice. He recoiled.

“It’s wax. For your eyebrows.”

“To do what for my eyebrows?”

“Shape them,” she said, and leaned a surprisingly powerful forearm across his collarbone to hold him down. “Don’t squirm, dear.”

She smeared some of the wax along the lower arch of his right eyebrow; it was pleasantly warm, which calmed him. When she laid a scrap of paper or fabric over it and pressed down for several seconds, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but when she grasped onto one end of it firmly with her other hand, understanding began to dawn. “No, no, please no,” he said, his protests falling on deaf ears. She ripped the strip away with a short, sharp movement, taking whatever hairs and, he suspected, half his flesh along with it. 

“OWWW! What the hell?” he protested.

“Language, dear.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” His eye watered and he resisted the urge to raise a hand to his face to cradle the injury.

“This is the quickest way to get the job done,” she explained, reapplying the wax to his inner brow and again along the outer edge. By the end, Chris was whimpering as a kind of dull throb set in.

“Oh, come now, it’s not so bad,” Hallie said, and handed him a cool cloth, which he held over his eye gratefully. “Move your hand, dear, I’ve got to get to the other one,” she murmured cheerfully.

He was either falling into shock or he had endorphins flowing, because the second one hurt marginally less. Then she advanced on him with a tweezer.

“Do you have a sadistic streak?” he asked. He had thought it was over, but apparently his tortured flesh had still to endure the harsh pinches as whatever hairs remained were plucked mercilessly until she was pleased with the new shape.

She laughed lightly and clapped her hands together; she looked like a demented gnome. “Only when it counts. Here’s some moisturizer. It’ll help.”

\----

“Oh my God, what am I seeing?”

Chris cringed when he heard Anne’s familiar voice and looked up into the mirror in front of him. The image that stared back at him was one he was not entirely sure he would ever want anyone to have seen. 

He sat in the makeup chair, one of those big black capey-things fastened around his neck. An array of bright purple foils adorned the crown of his head, evidence of the “just a few” highlights Carolyn had deemed necessary for the screen. His still-tender eyebrows were bright red and shiny where the hairs had been removed. It all combined to make him look like some sort of exotic fish. 

Anne’s face grinned at him in the mirror, her eyes filled with mirth. “Possibly my biggest nightmare,” Chris replied, to a hail of giggles.

\----

“I don’t… I don’t see a difference.” 

Chris stood in front of the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. 

“What are you talking about? She cut two inches off,” Anne told him. She leaned against the wall, fiddling with the tab on an empty Diet Coke can. 

“Not the cut—the color!” Chris said. “I can’t see anything.” 

“Oh well, you know, it’s really subtle. Or something,” Anne said. He gave her a look and she shrugged. “Maybe it’ll be more obvious in the sun?” 

He wrinkled his nose. “It looks too bouffanty.” He hated the way it’d been blown out, all brushed back from his forehead. He looked, like, _30_.

Once she was done with his cut and styling, Carolyn had taken a bunch of Polaroids and walked off muttering to herself about sideburns, leaving him staring dubiously at his stiff, spray-starched hair in the mirror. Thank God Anne had stuck around, laughing and joking with him through the haircut and subsequent primping. He supposed he ought to get used to this kind of thing if he was going to have a career in film.

“Well, you’re supposed to look like that, like Prince Charming,” Anne said.

“And Charming uses this much hair product?”

“Probably more. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He stared critically at his own reflection for a few more seconds then glanced at Anne sideways. “You think I look like Prince Charming?”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked up at the ceiling. “No! God!” She snorted extravagantly and punched him in the shoulder like an awkward 13-year old; they both laughed. “God, I’m bored. You have anything after this?” 

“Besides going home immediately to wash my hair? Nah—I was going to grab a bite to eat then head over to Grimy Corp, try to catch up with my friends.”

“Grimy Corp? What’s that?”

\----

“What made you choose this place?” Anne asked, taking in the empty expanse that was the Grimy Corp Playhouse space.

Chris looked around self-consciously. As usual, the kitchen area was a mess, with an overflowing trash can and a stack of pizza boxes next to the sink. “Um, I think the price was right? Babar’s uncle was refurbishing the building and offered it to us at cost, basically.”

She pointed to the sign that hung behind the stage. “Aptly named, then.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Chris said. “You should see it when the Santa Anas are blowing, there’s like this constant layer of dust.” He walked over to the kitchen and removed the trash from the can, then relined the bin and set the bag itself near the door so he could grab it on their way out. The place was empty, which Chris found a little disappointing. Because of his schedule, he hadn’t seen any of the guys in weeks.

“What do you do here?”

“It's a rehearsal space mostly. Just a place where the group of us can work on scenes for auditions and stuff.”

She raised her eyebrows and walked further in, the heels of her sandals making clicking sounds on the hardwoods. She did a circuit of the entire space, Chris trailing by several yards. He didn't know why he wanted her to approve, he just did. 

“Is it expensive?” She had gotten to their stage area and was regarding the stage. 

“Not now that I'm working,” he said from halfway across the room.

Her eyes went wide suddenly. “Jesus the acoustics in here!” She was clearly impressed.

“Now you see why we like it,” he said. “It's not as nice as at the studio, though.”

“Oh, I dunno,” she said and hopped up on the stage. The short skirt of her sundress swirled around her long legs. “This place isn't without its charms.” She looked around at the tall ceiling and the large banks of windows, clearly finding something to appreciate. “What do you say we put it to the use it was meant for?” She asked. 

“Huh?”

“We could practice your waltz, if you're up to it.”

“Oh God, are you sure you want to do that with open toed shoes on?” Chris had abused Anne’s toes the last time they danced. 

“I know Vivian’s been coaching you. Besides, do I want to squander the chance to dance with you when you actually look like Prince Charming?” She batted her eyes outrageously.

He ran his hand through his hair and met the resistance of all the product that had been used to get it to behave. It was just so big. “Fine,” he agreed, and vaulted up onto the stage. He bowed and held a hand out to her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Your Highness?” 

“But of course,” Anne said with a curtsy.

Her hand was warm and soft in his, her grip sure and lacking any hesitation at all as they took their positions and began to move slowly around the stage. 

“I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be counting out loud,” she said. 

Chris pressed his lips together. “That's the only thing keeping me from tripping over my feet.” 

“If we had some music, it'd be easier.”

“I don't think Patrick's Metallica CD on the boom box will give us quite the right mood.” 

“Well then, we'll just have to make it up. You lead, and I'll make the music shall I?” 

“Ok,” he said, amused and doubtful, but then she started humming something, setting a proper rhythm for the dance. Her voice was sweet and clear, and she’d clearly had training as a singer. As they moved, Chris relaxed, and even forgot to worry about where he put his feet. Anne was an expert partner, moving instinctively to follow his lead around the stage. Her body was warm in his arms, her steps light and always perfectly-placed. 

“Now twirl me!” She parted from him and raised their hands to duck under his arm. He brought his feet together and held his hand as high as he could as she spun gracefully around, twice. He rested his hand on her waist when she stopped. 

“Now dip me!” she said excitedly. 

This part he knew he could do, because Vivian had just taught him two days before. He positioned his arms and hands to support her back and bent forward as she went over. She laughed, her eyes alight with joy and her cheeks flushing. Chris smiled down into her face. 

As he pulled her back up, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Perfect dip!” she commended him.

“Yes, you are a perfect dip, Pine.” 

Chris looked up to find Reid standing in the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face. Beside him stood Zach.

“Oh hey,” Chris said, freezing as he looked at them; Zach’s face was completely neutral. “I was hoping to see you guys.” 

“Chris?” Anne said and he realized he was holding her so tightly she couldn't move. He loosened his arms and let her go.

“These are some of the guys,” he said awkwardly. “My friends.”

Anne pushed an errant strand of hair out of her face as she turned around. “Hi, guys.” 

“Well hello,” Reid said, walking forward, oozing smarm. “I must be Reid.”

Chris frowned as he and Anne walked down from the stage to join Reid and Zach. “This is Anne, she's my co-star in Princess Diaries 2.”

“Are you the titular royalty?” 

“In the flesh,” she said, bowing. 

“That's terrific! I'm happy to meet you. We're happy to meet her, aren't we Zach?”

“Of course,” Zach said, coming forward, his face transformed by a warm and friendly grin. “Someone who’s actually seen our boy in action?” He winked at Chris as he got to the stage. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Anne extended a hand and Zach took it, kissing her knuckles. “Oh, my. Oh!” she stammered, clearly charmed. Her cheeks turned an attractive shade of dusky rose.

“Pine, what the hell happened to you?” Reid asked.

“He had his hair and makeup consultation today, the poor lamb.” Anne patted his head lightly; the hairspray stuck to her hand as she pulled it away.

“They waxed me!” Chris said mournfully. “I feel kind of violated.”

“Waxed you where?” Zach asked, eyes widening. “I thought you said this was a Disney film?”

“Ha! No, it is. They waxed my eyebrows.”

“Oh, that? Don’t be such a baby, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Chris blinked at him. 

“You guys want to hang out?” Reid interrupted. “Quinto’s got this audition next week he needs to work on.”

“No, I don’t, I’m never getting it,” Zach said.

“What?” Chris said. “Don’t say that, of course you will.” He was kind of disappointed he didn't know, that he’d been so busy the last few weeks he’d lost track of the happenings in his friend’s life. 

Zach rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know if I want it, it’s for a series.”

“Which one?” Anne asked. 

“24? It’s that Kiefer Sutherland show?”

“I’ve heard of it—how exciting.”

“Yeah, I dunno if I want to be booking a gig on a show on Fox.”

“Can you really afford to be choosy?” Chris said.

“Probably not,” Zach said, deflating.

“At least you’ll be employed.”

“Plus, Keifer Sutherland is totally hot,” Reid pointed out. Everyone looked at him. “What? Isn’t he? Don’t you guys think so? I mean, you know, he’s so tough and stuff.” No one reacted. “What? Come on, I know you’re into guys and stuff, Zach, so I wanted to, like…” He let his voice fade.

“Commiserate?” Zach asked. “Just stick to what you know, Scott: creeping on young women like poor Anne here.”

“Not that your creeping on me isn’t completely appreciated,” Anne pointed out. 

They all shared a laugh. 

“So come on hang out with us,” Reid said as he crossed the room toward the fridge. “For once we have not-crappy beer,” he held up a few bottles to demonstrate. “It’ll be fun.”

Chris looked at Anne, who nodded enthusiastically. “OK, fine,” he said. “But I’ve got to be out of here by 4:00 so I can go pick Teddy up from my mom’s.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Reid said, handing him a bottle.

Anne clapped her hands and said, “Yippee,” as excited as a kid. She beamed at Chris, clearly delighted, though he couldn’t imagine why or by what. She seemed always to be on the verge of bursting into laughter, and it was such a refreshing thing. He shook his head, amused.

They all took seats on the two couches, which were arranged in an L-shape facing the stage. Chris and Anne sat on the purple one—in truth, Chris found it much more comfortable—and Reid and Zach were on the other one. Zach and Anne were on the inside of the right angle, closest to each other. 

Anne, an animated talker, gestured with her hands quite often as she recounted the story of Chris’s chemistry read with her. Occasionally, she’d bat Zach on the arm to make a point, or rest her hand on his knee. Zach didn't seem to mind much, and he’d even occasionally squeeze her hand in response. As long as they were talking about Chris, apparently all was right with the world.

Chris was content to let it all happen—his friends were going to make fun of him anyway—and he was somewhat relieved that things hadn’t gone back to feeling strained between him and Zach due to Chris’s recent absence. Chris's feelings about Zach were complicated. On the one hand, he’d said some hurtful things, things Chris didn't think he could forget. On the other hand, he'd more than proven himself to be a good friend since then. 

Maybe that was what they were meant to be. Maybe they’d just stay friends and one day laugh about their brief fling, even forget about how painful the ending had been. 

Maybe it was too complicated to have a relationship at this point in his life anyway; Teddy was so young and his career was just taking off. Chris had the film to focus on now anyway, and that was about all the extra energy he could spend at this point. The cast and crew were all so nice and he was learning so much. Anne and Callum have been giving him pointers and he was very pointedly _not_ asking John what it was like to work with Spielberg even though he was dying to. It was fun.

The afternoon passed quickly, and left Chris feeling good for having reconnected with his friends. As he was driving Anne back to the lot where she’d left her car, they chatted about their day.

“I really like your friends,” she said, “I can see why you like hanging out there.”

Chris didn't know why it pleased him that she liked them, that her opinion mattered so much, but it did. “It’s a great place to be creative, too,” he pointed out. “It’s helped us all so much, just being able to work off each other.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I totally get it.” They drove on for a few minutes more before she said, “So what’s up between you and Zach?”

“Me and Zach? Uhh…”

“Are you guys exes or something?”

Chris glanced at her. “No. Not really. What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s the way you are around each other. So careful, solicitous almost. I’m only ever that kind of nice to my exes.”

“It’s a long story,” he hedged.

“One you don’t want to tell? I get that.”

“I’m bi,” he blurted. His face colored. “I don’t know why I said that. I guess it’s gotten me in trouble in the past.” He frowned.

“By the bye.” She smiled, her head lolling against the headrest as she looked at him. “It’s OK, you know. Just be who you be.”

“Sorry.” 

“Besides, it’s not like it matters. We’re about to work together, so any thought of this?” She pointed back and forth between them. “Is strictly _verboten_.”

“What? Yeah, _pphhtt_!” He blew air through his lips and rolled his eyes. “I mean, _of course_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is what his hair winds up looking like, in case anyone needs a reminder:
> 
> this freaking princess


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach’s not hung up on Chris. Nope.

Zach watched Chris and Anne leave and tried not to look like a kicked puppy.

“You OK, man?” Reid asked quietly. “I know you really liked him before.”

“What? Me? Yeah, sure.”

“OK. If you’re sure.”

“No, yeah. No. I’m sure. As sure as sure gets. Soooo sure.” 

Zach got up and cleared away the beer bottles. “I gotta get to work,” he said, and left. His shift didn’t start for another hour, but he needed something to do.

Lately it seemed everyone was booking gigs and he was being left behind. The odd guest shot on some weekly show was helping to pay the bills, but it was doing nothing to help him hone his craft. He was beginning to think about heading to New York, where a guy like him could still find work on stage. He was beginning to believe some of the casting agents who were telling him his “vibe” was “unique” for films. He suspected that was code for his looks, and it was something he’d long ago accepted—he wasn’t handsome enough to be the leading man, and he was too young still to be a villain or a character actor. It was particularly frustrating.

He arrived at the restaurant and got the bar prepped early, cutting endless slices of limes, or at least it felt like it. This time of year, folks went for margaritas a lot, even if the place was a Japanese-American fusion bistro like the one he worked in. He had no explanation for it, but there it was.

Service began and it was a typical Friday—busy early and unrelenting until closing. Around 9:00, some guy he’d seen around the restaurant a few times before approached the bar and took a seat at the corner with his back to the windows. He ordered a Jack and ginger and nursed it for about fifteen minutes before calling Zach over during a rare lull. 

“Need something more?” Zach asked, eyeing the guy’s half-drunk glass. He was handsome in a bland way, with over-tanned skin and dark hair combed back from a high forehead. Zach bet he was younger than he looked. When he talked, his voice was low and gravelly, with a hint of a Boston accent. He was the type Zach used to go for before he got over his daddy complex, before he started favoring the younger, bluer-eyed end of the spectrum.

“Maybe your number,” the guy said. “You’ve got a unique look.”

Zach refrained from rolling his eyes, but it took a mighty effort. “So I’ve been told.”

“Are you an actor?”

“I am.”

“I thought so. I’ve seen you before. In that show.”

Zach sighed as silently as he could. This was not the first time he’d been handed that line, and he never fell for it. “You don’t look like type that watches that show,” he pointed out.

The man laughed, showing a mouth full of expensive veneers. “I know more about that than you’d think,” he said wryly. “Target demographics and Q ratings. When did it all go from putting out quality entertainment to caring more about product placements?”

“You mean it wasn’t always about that?” Zach asked ironically. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that looks and marketability hadn’t always mattered, since the beginning of time. 

“Touché,” Mr. Teeth said and checked his watch. “I’m beginning to think I’m being stood up.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Zach asked sarcastically, but the noise level in the room was such that the finer nuance was lost, and the guy gave him a warm smile.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Zach said with a smile, replacing the bowl of pub mix in front of the guy even though it was still full. One of the waitresses, Tara, showed up at the other end of the bar, looking impatient for Zach to pull an order together. “Looks like I’m wanted over there. Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

“Your number?”

Zach clutched an imaginary set of pearls. “What’ll your date say?”

“How’s he to know?”

“Oh you!” Zach admonished and walked away. “Oh brother, what a sleaze,” he complained to Tara as soon as he was out of earshot. 

She gave the guy at the other end the once over. “Well of course he is, but word is he’s next in line to run Fox Television if what’s-his-face ever shits the bed.”

“Oh yeah?” Zach said, turning around. When he did, he caught Mr. Teeth checking out his ass. He smiled and shook his finger at the idiot. _I guess it doesn’t hurt to network,_ he thought to himself as he poured out the two glasses of wine and the two drafts Tara needed and sent her on her way. He filled a couple of other orders and left them to be picked up, then poured another Jack and ginger and brought it over to the guy. “You look like you could use a refill,” he said. 

Mr. Teeth gave an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid my date’s not coming, so you’ll have to drink it yourself.” 

Zach shrugged and placed the drink on the runner; he’d drink it later when the manager wasn’t lurking around. “That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically.

“Win some, lose some,” Teeth said. He slid something across the bar toward Zach. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

Zach looked down at it—it was a hundred dollar bill with the man’s phone number written on it. “I aim to please.”

“Maybe we’ll see about that someday.” He flashed another grin and slunk out the front door, leaving Zach staring at the bill. 

“Yeah, probably not,” he said, picking up the bill and exchanging it for five twenties from the cash register. Looking around the bar to make sure the coast was clear, he downed the drink then wiped the bar down.

Half an hour later, the dinner rush was finally dissipating and Zach could get a breath in. He was restocking the beer bottles in the fridge when he heard a throat clearing behind him. “Hey, who do I have to blow to get a beer around here?” a voice said.

Zach stood and turned around, saying tartly, “That depends, you any good?” When he looked at who had spoken, he grinned like a loon. “Bomer, you asshole, what the hell are you doing here?” He strode over to where his friend was hanging over the bar, a grin identical to Zach’s on his face. 

“I was supposed to meet someone here in the bar, but I guess I was too late,” he said. Zach stood on his toes so they could embrace over the width of the bar, slapping each other on the back before parting. Zach took the opportunity to ruffle Matt’s dark mop of hair before the other man was able to get away. Matt frowned, not an unattractive thing on his boyish face. 

“Not the guy with the teeth and the tan?” Zach asked, making a face. “I think he thought you blew him off.”

“I think I did, accidentally on purpose,” Matt said. “I should probably call and give my excuses.”

Zach made a face. “He was a real sleaze, man.”

“I know, but he’s in charge of development at Fox Television.”

“He tried to pick me up when you didn't show.”

“Well, I guess we know he’s not very discerning, then.”

“Fuck you,” Zach said with a laugh. 

“I missed you, man.”

Zach smiled fondly at his old friend. “Me too. What are you drinking?”

“Surprise me.”

Zach filled a cocktail shaker with ice and chose a few bottles from amongst the good stuff. “So what are you doing out here? I thought you were in New York?” Matt had been working on some soap opera or other, and though Zach hadn’t really thought all that much about him since he’d graduated college—Matt was working and he was well so that was what mattered—Zach was surprised to realize he’d missed him.

“I was, until they wrote me out of the show. Now I’m out here.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Zach said. He finished pouring and slammed the lid onto the shaker, shaking it over his shoulder quickly and efficiently. Setting a chilled martini glass down on the bar, he poured the drink out and grabbed a bit of orange peel. Lighting a lighter just above the glass, he squeezed the peel over the flame so that it flared, then stopped the flame and slid the peel into the drink. “Now you can drown your sorrows.”

“Ooo, fancy,” Matt drawled in an exaggeration of his Texas accent, which Zach knew he’d struggled to lose in school (and which Zach secretly found charming). “What is that, anyway?” Matt asked as Zach slid it across the bar at him.

“A Sidecar. You like it.”

“Do I?” Matt asked, sipping. “I do,” he said with a happy smile. “Nice job, Quinto.”

Zach inclined his head in thanks. “How long you been out here?”

“Not long—I came out for an audition, actually. It went well. And then I got a call from Mr. Fake-n-Bake. He saw my tape and wanted to ‘coach me.’” Matt made actual air quotes. 

Zach rolled his eyes; some things about this town had apparently never changed over the years, and the “casting couch” was very much not a thing of the past. “I’m sorry man.” 

“I really should call the guy—I can’t afford to make enemies.”

Zach couldn’t imagine being in the same position. “Drink up,” he said, raising his eyebrows as Matt did so, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. Zach moved to the other end of the bar to give his friend some privacy, then quietly made him another drink once he got off the phone. “What did you tell him?”

“That I’m new to LA and I got lost and there was traffic.” Zach smirked. “What, it could happen.”

“No, it actually could.”

“We’re having lunch tomorrow,” Matt said, and then shuddered.

Zach made sympathetic noises, then slid a bar menu toward his friend. “You hungry?” 

“Seeing as I blew my shot at a free, fancy dinner, I probably should eat something.”

“This place isn’t all _that_ trendy,” Zach advised him. “He probably came here so no one would see you together.”

“Well, that just makes me feel so much better.”

Matt hung out at the bar while Zach worked. His looks and personality made him popular with all the other servers, and the rest of Zach’s shift flew by as they traded off telling stories about their college days. 

“Where are you parked?” Zach asked as they left the restaurant behind the other servers.

Matt made a vague gesture at a lot across the street. “I shouldn’t drive.”

Zach gave him a look. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“That’s not true—you can take me home.”

“And where is that? Where are you staying?”

Matt made a pouty frown, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Manganiello’s letting me crash on his couch. It’s very uncomfortable and smells like cat pee.”

Zach stared at him for long seconds, but the pout proved more powerful than his resolve. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Come back to my place.”

Matt actually clapped his hands together and followed Zach to his trusty Honda. At this time of night, it didn't take him long to get home. Zach noted with relief that Joe’s motorcycle was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was still out on his date.

“You want a beer?” Matt asked as soon as they were inside. 

“Do _you_ want a beer?” Zach asked, amused. 

Matt’s answer was a brilliant smile, so Zach went to retrieve two bottles from the fridge, twisting off the caps and tossing them in the trash. He returned to the living room, where Matt had already settled on the couch. He handed his friend a bottle and took a swig. After the long night he’d had, its hoppy bitterness was welcome.

Matt grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table as they settled together on the couch, and channel surfed idly as he chattered to Zach about the audition he’d had that day. Zach laid a hand on Matt’s wrist to stop his surfing when he got to ESPN; Sportscenter was in the midst of giving a rundown of the day’s baseball results, and he wanted to know the outcome of the Philadelphia/Atlanta game. 

“What?” he asked Matt after catching the look on his face when the segment was over. 

“Nothing. I just can't believe a good boy from the 'burgh is a Phillies fan, that's all.”

“Don't tell my brother, I'm not out to him yet,” Zach joked. 

“Ha!” Matt sipped his beer and leaned over to slap Zach’s thigh. “I've missed you, you know. You make me laugh.”

Zach smiled fondly at him. Things with Matt were always blissfully free of drama. “Yeah, but you’ve been in New York—much more interesting than LA, trust me.” 

“Only as interesting as the people in it,” Matt said as he leaned into Zach to kiss him, lightly and sensuously, his mouth and tongue still cold from the beer. 

Matt was also one of the most guileless people Zach had ever met, which was why they tended to hook up every so often, no strings, whenever one of them got the urge. He very nearly gave in to that urge, but something inside him rebelled. After a minute, Zach pushed against Matt's chest gently with one hand until the other man got the idea. 

“Aww,” Matt said, smiling charmingly. “You've got someone.” 

Zach sighed and sank into the couch, resting his beer on his thigh as he ran a hand through his hair a couple of times. “Not exactly,” he finally answered, and took a sip to avoid looking at Matt. 

Matt stared at him for a long minute. “Wow, Quinto, I don’t think I've never seen you this hung up. Not even after that thing with Kolodny.”

Zach flinched. “No, I was a _lot_ more fucked up after that 'thing' with Kolodny,” he clarified. 

Martin Kolodny had been Zach's sociology professor sophomore year. He was in his late 40s, devastatingly handsome, and was the first person Zach had ever let top him. Their relationship had burned hot and fast over the course of the semester, and Zach had believed everything the older man had told him: he’d never met anyone who made him feel like Zach did, he was in love. Zach thought he had died and gone to heaven—until Martin's wife, a cultural anthropologist, had returned to the U.S. after the funding of her research study in Paris ran out. Zach was not only immediately and thoroughly dumped, he was left bereft and questioning his own judgment and feelings. He’d nearly quit school. 

It didn't take a shrink to figure out why Zach rarely had a relationship that lasted more than a couple of months after that. He truthfully had never thought of anyone as worth it until—

“What's his name?” Matt asked, interrupting the shame spiral. 

Zach sighed. “Chris.”

“Chris. Is he a nice person?”

Zach nodded. “He’s got a little boy.”

“Does that make it complicated?”

“I made it complicated,” Zach admitted.

Matt nodded. “Can you de-complicate it?”

“No.”

Matt frowned sympathetically at him and finished his beer. “Well, since it appears I’m not getting any tonight, let’s get some sleep.” He rose and collected the beer bottles, dropped them off in the kitchen, and headed for the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Zach asked.

“Your bedroom. I am not sleeping on a couch again.”

“What about me?”

“Since you can apparently keep your hands to yourself, I suppose you can sleep with me,” Matt said with a sweet smile. 

\----

“Come here, you have to try this goat cheese.”

Zach let Matt drag him over to the vendor’s stall at the local farmer’s market, though the idea of tasting cheese at this hour was frankly disgusting to him. “Man, how are you not hungover? You drank a lot more than me last night.”

“Healthy living, my friend. And lots of water. Now here, try it with the honey drizzled on it.”

Zach opened his mouth dutifully, and Matt shoved a small cracker with a smear of cheese and honey into his mouth. It was creamy and delicious, he had to admit. “Mmm.”

“You like it?” the young woman who worked the stand asked. “You should try it with a little cracked pepper on top too.”

Zach didn't know how he felt about cracked pepper in the presence of honey, but she kept talking until he felt compelled to fork over eight bucks for a tiny tub of cheese. 

“Hope to see you next week,” she said cheerfully as she handed him a small paper bag.

Zach handed Matt the bag as soon as they walked away. “Here, I’ll never eat it.”

“What? Then why did you buy it?”

“I don’t know, did you see the way she looked at me, all earnest and hopeful in her Birkenstocks and faint miasma of patchouli, peddling her artisanal cheese?”

“You may have missed your calling—have you considered screenwriting?” Matt said. 

“No.”

“That’s too bad, you’ve got just the right level of bitter cynicism for it. Thanks for the cheese.”

“Consider it my gift to you, since you’re all unemployed and whatnot.”

Matt frowned. “Thanks for reminding me.” His frown deepened as he looked at his watch. “And I’d better take off now if I’m going to make it to Santa Monica in time for my lunch date.” He bussed Zach on the cheek. “I really can’t afford to piss this guy off.”

Zach caught his hand before he could go, his brows drawn together. “You sure about this? There’ll be other auditions, other jobs.”

“Can you guarantee that?” 

Zach shook his head no, because he could not.

“Bye, honey, and thanks for worrying about me,” Matt said and took off at a run; the lot where he’d left his car the night before was only two blocks away.

Zach contemplated leaving himself as he watched his friend go; he was tired and wanted to get a nap in before his shift at the restaurant later that night. 

“Mr. Zach!” A joyful voice shouted nearby and he looked up just in time for a small dynamo to throw itself at him.

“Teddy! Hey!” he said, bending over awkwardly to hug the boy around his shoulders. “What a nice surprise to see you,” he said to Chris, who by that point had made it over. “Both of you.”

“I almost couldn’t believe it,” Chris said. “Teddy spotted you first. He’s got eagle eyes.”

Zach looked down at Teddy, who was still hugging him around the hips. “Did you?”

“Uh huh!” 

“Well, that makes me feel super special.”

Teddy grinned and let him go.

“So what brings you out here?” Chris asked. “I didn't think this market was on your beaten path.”

Zach shrugged. “I work at _Miyabi_ , it’s about two blocks from here,” he explained. “Was dropping a friend off at his car and he roped me into coming here.”

Chris looked down at his shoes. “A friend? Is that who that was?”

“Daddy, can we get cherries?” Teddy asked, pulling at the tail of Chris’s shirt. 

“Of course,” Chris said with a smile, pushing Teddy’s hair out of his eyes. When he smiled at the boy, his nose crinkled and his eyes sparkled, and Zach felt a sudden pang. “This kid loves fruit,” he said, looking up at Zach.

“I think I knew that.”

“We should go get him his cherries then, and the peppers and tomatoes for Nana, right?” Chris said to Teddy. “My mom makes killer pico de gallo, and we’re having tacos tonight.”

“You and tacos,” Zach said, as if that was a thing, but Chris grinned anyway. 

“So I’ll see you soon, I hope? At the Corp?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

Chris smiled, looking pleased. “Say goodbye to Mr. Zach,” he prompted Teddy.

“Goodbye, Mr. Zach!” Teddy said, holding his arms open to give Zach another hug. Zach crouched down so they’d be on more equal footing. Teddy’s arms were strong around his neck, and before he pulled away, the boy planted a wet kiss on Zach’s ear. Something inside Zach melted, just a little. 

“’Bye you guys—I hope taco night’s all it’s cracked up to be.”

Chris smiled and nodded and the two of them walked away.

Zach decided it really was time to go at that point. Turning back toward where he’d parked, he left the market and crossed the street. On the corner, in the shade of an awning outside a small pet store, were two girls. They sat in two lawn chairs with a wire dog crate set up on the sidewalk between them. Inside it were two black balls of fur.

“Hey, you wanna adopt a kitten?” one of them asked Zach as he walked past.

“What? I dunno…” 

“Come on, they’re really cute,” the other one said.

As Zach peered into the crate, one of them looked up at him, yawned hugely, then rose and made its way to the edge. “Aww!” Zach said, crouching down and holding his fingers up against the wire bars. The kitten—all black except for its white paws and a blaze of white on its chest—pressed his head against Zach’s fingers, purring mightily. “Hey, little fella,” Zach cooed, scratching the kitten through the bars.

“You wanna hold him?” 

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“Aw, come on, what’ll it hurt?” the girl cajoled. She opened the door of the dog crate, lifted the kitten out, and placed him into Zach’s arms. As soon as Zach held him, the volume of purring intensified, and he rubbed his small face against Zach’s chin. 

“Oh my god, he’s so cute. What’s his name?”

“Harold. His sister there’s named Maud, but she’s already spoken for.”

“She is?”

“Yup. Which leaves poor Harold there aaaaall alooooone.”

“Oh no!” Zach buried his nose in the kitten’s soft fur and kissed him. He’d always had cats growing up, but had never gotten one for himself, preferring not to be tied down by responsibility. For some reason, he didn’t feel that way anymore. “What do I have to do?”

“Well, it’s just the matter of a small donation to the animal rescue, and he’s all yours.”

Zach lifted the small kitten up and looked into his eyes. “What do you say, little buddy? You wanna come home with me today?”

His answer was the swipe of a paw at his nose.

\----

“Joe?” Zach called out as soon as he got home. “OK, don’t kill me, but—oh, hello.”

“Hello,” said Katie. Pine. Chris’s sister. Who was seated at the breakfast bar drinking a mug of tea. Wearing one of Joe’s college t-shirts. And nothing else.

“You are… um…”

“Here.”

“In my house.”

“Yes.”

“Naked.”

“Only a little.”

“JOE!!!” They both called out.

“What? Jeez!” the man in question asked, padding into the kitchen, his hair still damp from a shower.

“Joseph. Darling,” Katie began. “Did you not tell your brother we were dating?”

“Oh. Probably not. Guess I forgot.”

“Mew! Mew! MEW!!”

“What was that noise?”

“Noise?” Zach asked. He was still staring at Katie as if she was an alien. In a Northwestern t-shirt.

“If I’m not mistaken, something is crying plaintively from that bag on your shoulder,” Katie pointed out.

“Oh. Oh, this.” Zach shrugged the soft-sided cat carrier he’d bought at the pet store off his shoulder and placed it on the counter. “This is Harold.”

\----

“Dude, I can’t believe you bought a kitten.” 

“And I can’t believe you’re _dating Chris’s sister_. I think I win this round of Righteous Indignation Jeopardy. When were you going to tell me?” 

Despite earlier protests, Joe was happily allowing said kitten to chew on his fingertip. “I dunno, when it became relevant?”

“You know she hates me.”

“She just doesn’t know you very well.” Joe picked up Harold and cuddled him, scratching the kitten’s chest as it hugged his hand with all four paws. 

Zach took Joe’s lack of contradiction as confirmation of something he’d suspected for a while. “So she _does_ hate me?"

“You were kind of a dick to her brother.”

“She said that?”

“No, I say that. I can’t believe you let the fact Chris has a son get between you two.”

“That’s not what happened. I love Teddy—he’s a great kid.” He was possibly the first kid Zach could relate to, now that he had a reason to think about it.

“Well, that’s what it looked like from the cheap seats. All you could do was go on about how he had a kid and what kind of person wouldn’t tell their friends about something so important or whatever.” 

“It’s a lot more complicated than just that, Joe.”

“I can’t imagine how.”

Zach was beginning to feel backed up against a wall and he didn’t know why. Joe’s tone wasn’t combative or anything, but every time Zach thought about this, it made him relive his bad behavior. He took a deep breath before responding quietly, “How about the fact that if a person has a child, that child must logically have another parent.”

“So?”

“So that other parent must be a female. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“You thought Chris might not be gay?”

Zach nodded. “Or that he was cheating on someone—it could have been any number of things, and I didn’t want to be caught up in all of that.”

“But I thought Katie said Teddy’s mother died.”

“She did, but I didn’t know that at the time. And before he could explain, I went off and called him a liar. So don’t worry, you’re still right—I am a huge asshole, only now you know exactly why.”

“Oh.” Joe said. By this point, Harold had fallen asleep, and he looked down at the kitten as if noticing him for the first time. “That kinda sucks, man. What are you going to do about it?”

Zach shrugged and reached out to pet the sleeping ball of fur. “At least now, he’s forgiven me, and we’re friends again. If that’s all I get, then I’m satisfied.”

“Really?”

Zach didn’t answer.

\----

“Hello?” Zach said into the cell phone, blinking uncertainly in the light from the lamp beside his bed. 

“Zach? Did I wake you?”

“Chris? What time is it?”

“I did wake you—I’m so sorry.”

Zach pushed himself up in the bed and yawned. “Forget about it. What’s wrong?” There was a long pause at the other end of the call, long enough for Zach to think it had been dropped. “Chris?”

“Hi. Sorry, sorry. I… my first day of filming is tomorrow.”

“That’s terrific! Break a leg. You’re going to do so well.”

“No, I’m not. I’m going to be horrible.”

“What? Don’t be silly.”

But Chris didn’t seem to hear him. “It’s going to be the worst thing ever.”

“Come on, that’s just first day jitters talking. They wouldn’t have cast you if they didn’t think you’d be terrific. Now, what’s this really about?”

“My first scene… it’s… it’s with _her_ ”

“Anne?”

“No, Julie. Andrews. Dame Julie Andrews. Is that what I’m supposed to call her? I don’t even know what to call her. Oh my god.”

“Calm down, haven’t you been rehearsing for weeks?”

“Like, all the really big scenes, but not this one. For some reason, this scene wasn’t deemed important enough to rehearse in advance. We’re supposed to do a couple run-throughs in the morning.”

“See? It’ll be fine. I mean, she’s Julie freaking Andrews. She’s a pro and you’ll be fine.” Chris mumbled something Zach didn’t catch “What was that?”

“I said I haven’t met her yet!”

“You haven’t met her? She’s one of the stars of the film.”

“And I haven’t met her! She’s been in, like, England for the last two weeks, I never got the chance. Oh god, I think I’m gonna puke.”

“No, Chris, that’s not—“ There followed the muffled yet unmistakable sounds of dry heaving and heavy breathing. “Chris? Oh god,” Zach said, and sat in his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, waiting for his friend to come back on the line so he could try to make him feel better. It took several minutes, but finally the heavy breathing seemed to be a bit closer to the phone. “Chris? You feel any better?”

“No,” was the dejected reply.

“Listen, you’ve got to get over this. It’s going to be a long shoot if you keep getting yourself tied up in knots over all this… this superfluous shit. You’re an actual, professional, SAG-card carrying actor. You have trained for this, you have earned this, and by god, you’re going to do this. All right?”

“Yes?”

“That doesn’t sound like the confident, self-assured guy I know. Now, have you got this?”

“I do,” Chris said, his voice wavering.

“OK then, keep repeating it until you believe it.”

“I’ve got this. I’ve got this.” Chris took a deep breath that he let out slowly. “I have got this.”

“There. Feel better?”

“Not even a little. But I think I will. Soon. Thanks, man. God, you’re such a good friend. Thank you. Thanks.”

Zach closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yep. That’s what friends are for, after all.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filming on Princess Diaries 2 begins. Life imitates art.

After weeks of preparations and rehearsals, wardrobe fittings and makeup tests, filming of _The Princess Diaries 2_ had finally begun. And Chris could hardly contain his boredom. 

He’d known—or at least been told—that it would be like this, but he had always thought people were overselling it. But no, short bursts of on-camera action were punctuated by extended periods of time spent to allow cameras and lighting to be reset. And the actors were required to wait until they were needed. 

The first couple of days, he’d been so excited just to be there, he hadn't noticed it might be an issue, but by day three, he wished he’d thought to bring a book, and on day four he did. 

The fact many in the cast were under 30 helped to pass the time, especially when they got to the filming of the ball. That’s when people’s hidden talents came through. As it turned out, Anne had a near encyclopedic knowledge of 90’s rap lyrics, and watching her singing all the words to “Nothin’ But a G Thang” whilst clad in a formal ball gown and tiara was something Chris would not soon forget. 

Chris suspected there was a lot more hanky-panky than he caught wind of, too, but most days he headed straight home. Being able to spend entire evenings with Teddy was something he could seriously get used to, and not working nights made him much better rested than he’d been since Teddy was born.

\----

“OK that's a cut and a print,” Garry pronounced one Friday afternoon a few weeks into shooting. “We will shoot Christopher's coverage this afternoon, so that is also lunch!” The director hopped down off his chair and crossed over into the set of the richly appointed library set they had been shooting in. Around them, crew members locked down cameras and extinguished lights before scattering for their lunch break. 

“That was terrific, Johnny, really,” Garry said, taking John Rhys-Davies' hand in both of his and shaking it warmly. 

“Yes. It was,” the actor agreed and both men smiled at each other. 

Garry turned his attention to Chris. “Chris, that was great, you're turning into a pro, kid.”

“Thank you so much Mr. Marshall! I’m so glad you think so.” He'd been very careful to obey each one of the directions Garry had given him over the last few weeks, and had worked hard to always put everything into each line, even when his character was off-camera. 

“I do, I do.” Garry held his hands open and approached, grasping Chris by his shoulders. “Keep it up and you'll go far, my boy.”

Chris felt warm all over as he marched over to craft services to grab a quick bite before heading back to the dressing room he shared with Callum. 

“That was terrific,” Anne said, as he passed her. She had been sitting just off camera, beyond the lights where he wouldn't have seen her. He was flattered she’d stopped by to watch his scene. 

“Thanks, you think so?”

“Here.” She handed him a Snapple from the table—mint iced tea—and grabbed one for herself. “There are few people who could perform opposite John when he's hamming it up like that and maintain a straight face. That's an amazing feat.”

Chris laughed. “He reminds me of the head master at my high school, so it's not hard. Half the time I feel like he's about to scold me, even when he's being complimentary. I don't even dare slouch or I'll get detention.” 

She smiled. “Let's get lunch, huh?”

They carried their lunches to Anne's dressing room, which was closer and also about twice the size of Chris's. She handed him a towel to drape across his front--he'd already suffered the wrath of the wardrobe mistress the last time he'd spilled something on himself—and they settled down at the table to eat. 

“So you ready for the big location shoot tomorrow?” Anne asked. They were going to be shooting various scenes at a private estate in Pasadena for the next two weeks, including the archery scene they’d done for Chris’s chemistry read. The excitement of it spread across the set all day, like it was the day before school let out. Chris liked the idea of shooting outdoors after weeks cooped up on a soundstage. 

“I am! I feel like it'll be fun, don't you?”

“We still need to rehearse the fountain scene,” she pointed out. “That's going to be a little complicated.”

“How so? I mean, we argue and kiss... Sounds pretty straightforward to me.” In actuality, it was pretty nerve-wracking. The thought of kissing Anne was appealing to him in a way that was not entirely professional. 

“We’re supposed to fall into the fountain, don't forget. And I don't know about you, but I don't relish the idea of having to get all dried off and made up a dozen times, so it's important to nail it in as few takes as possible.”

“Oh.” Chris hadn't thought of it that way. “How much time will we have to block it out?”

“I dunno, I haven't seen the schedule yet.”

“Do you think we could get in there early?”

She shrugged. “I’ll ask around.”

\----

“What's this?” When Chris finished shooting for the day at 3:30, a PA handed him a note directing him to a rehearsal space near the soundstage. 

He arrived to find Anne already there, speaking with a crewmember Chris didn’t recognize. When she saw Chris, she grinned and called him over; as he approached, he saw a pile of gym mats about a foot high sitting on the floor. 

“Isn’t this cool?” Anne enthused. She indicated the other man, who smiled pleasantly. He was tal—taller than Chris—and had a lot of tattoos on his arms. Big, well-muscled arms; Chris stepped closer to Anne. “Rollie’s a junior stunt coordinator and he hooked us up with the mats. He said we could use these as long as we want.”

“Yep, it’s not a big deal,” Rollie said; Chris thought he had an Australian accent. “Just give a call when you’re ready, Annie, and they’ll come and clear these away.” He waved as he made himself scarce.

“As something to fall on top of repeatedly, these look pretty good,” Chris said, poking at the mats with his foot.

“It all depends on how fast you’re going when you hit them,” Anne said.

Chris wondered exactly how much experience at that she might have and decided not to ask. “Should we get started?”

“I was thinking we could do a few run-throughs and then try it with the fall ok?” Anne said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“So let’s take it from the point where Andrew and what’s-her-name leave?”

Chris nodded and paused a moment to get himself into the proper headspace for the scene. Nicholas and Mia have just played a game of “my date’s better than your date” with each other, and he knew he ought to be a little riled up. Despite basically being one of the heavies in the film, he felt very strongly that Nicholas had a strong sense of duty as his motivation. He may have been a pretender to the throne, but Nicholas also cared about his generically European country of Genovia, and he was justified and doing the right thing, even if his uncle seemed more interested in consolidating power. On the other hand, he’d been playing a very strong attraction to Anne’s character Mia the entire time, one he imagined Nicholas helpless to resist. A part of him imagined it becoming something of a minor obsession for Nicholas. So the opportunity for Nicholas to goad Mia a little bit in this scene, while it would likely be played for laughs, was very serious business for the character—maybe he was mad about it, maybe he was crazy for her. Chris couldn’t decide which, so he decided to go with both.

“OK, ready,” Chris said, shaking his limbs out loosely to prepare for the physicality of the scene. 

Anne took up a position over by the door; based on the action in the scene, they’d have to approach the fountain from somewhere else in the formal gardens of the Genovian Royal Palace, so getting some momentum behind them would be a good thing. The two of them paused for a moment, and since the first line was Chris’s, he set the scene in motion, beginning to stroll toward the mats. “Fantastic party,” he said.

“It is,” Anne agreed; as Anne played it, she was a tightly-wound ball of energy, which suited Chris fine. Mia clearly had feelings for Nicholas that were just as complicated. 

“You two make such a lovely couple,” Chris said breezily, injecting just a bit of sarcasm.

“We do? Thank you.”

“It’s a shame you’re not really attracted to him.” Chris raised an eyebrow, as if he’d won a point.

“I know, it’s… it’s… OH YOU!” she exclaimed as he strode over to the mats. “Come back here!” she called after him in frustration. “Come back here, you can’t just say something like that and… I will have you know I am very attracted to Andrew!”

Chris stopped walking and turned to her, letting her catch up to him. Her movement was an interesting choice—half gamine ingénue, half newborn colt. “Mmm hmmm,” Chris said.

“He understands me,” she said as if it mattered.

“Understands you? Wow, such passion. I didn’t hear you mention love.”

She tossed her head. “You’re so jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous of Andrew? He’s got to spend the rest of his life married to you,” he said nastily.

She pushed at his shoulder, improvising; she was supposed to hit him with a fan she was holding but they had none. “I loathe you.”

He reciprocated, his gentle shoulder-push sending her reeling, a reaction she clearly was playing up. “I loathe _you_.” 

“I loathe you _first_!” she exclaimed in a fit of pique, and Chris was momentarily distracted by a fleck of saliva on her lower lip. He used that distraction, kept his eyes on her mouth as he reached for her, pulling her against him with a hand around her waist and, finally, he kissed her. 

She started, and he was afraid she’d pull away. But then she relaxed, her body molding itself to his, and her arms came up to encircle his neck. Her mouth opened to him, and he couldn’t resist exploring with his tongue, just a little. She tasted like watermelon Jolly Ranchers. 

She sighed and relaxed a little, and his arms tightened reflexively, pulling her closer. Her hand came around and she rested tentative fingers on his cheek as her other hand cupped the back of his head, fingers running through the shorter hairs on his neck. He shivered and kissed her harder. 

It was minutes later when they parted, both slightly out of breath. “I’m sorry, I think I got a little carried away,” he said. Her brown eyes were so large and bright, he could see himself reflected in them. 

“Oh. Yeah.” She straightened and stepped away, pulling at the hem of her blouse. “Not quite what’s in the script, that.”

“Probably not.” Chris could feel a flush in his cheeks. 

She cleared her throat several times and smoothed her hair. “We should probably try it again from the top. And keep it _professional_.”

“Professional,” Chris repeated, more for himself than anything else.

\----

They ran through it three times, which was as much as they felt they could without knowing the specifics of what Garry would want, and Chris was home in time for dinner. He’d just tucked Teddy in for the night when his cell phone rang. Katie tossed it to him from where it sat on the coffee table. “Hello?” A wave of crowd noise was the first thing he heard.

“Pine! Where are ya?”

He glanced at the caller ID. “Annie? Are you drunk?”

“No. Maybe. Only one way to find out—get down here.”

“Where’s ‘here’?” She gave the name of someplace he’d never heard of. “I just put Teddy down,” he said.

She made the kind of noises only a dog might hear. “Why d’you have to be so res _ponsible_?” 

He could picture the way her face screwed up as she over-enunciated the word, and it made him smile. That was happening a lot lately. “Uhh… it kind of comes with the territory of being a parent?” 

“Fine.” 

“You can go out if you want to go out.”

Chris looked over at Katie. “I can’t ask you to babysit on such short notice,” he said, holding his hand over the phone. In the background, Anne and Heather had begun to sing an En Vogue medley.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” Katie waved a hand over herself; she was clad in sweats and one of Chris’s Berkeley t-shirts, her hair in pigtails and her glasses on. 

“You sure?”

“Go! Have fun with your fellow thespians.”

Chris still gave her the _Are you sure?_ look, and she made shooing gestures with her hands.

“OK, fine, I’m in,” he said into the phone, to a chorus of hurrahs from the other end.

\----

The place was one of those hotel bars so fashionable all the lighting was recessed under all the tables. The drinks probably cost as much as Chris’s weekly grocery bill, but the place was small so it wasn’t hard to find Anne, Heather, Callum, and a couple of women Chris thought might have been in the slumber party scene seated at a banquette in a corner. 

Their welcome was the sort of warm and excited greeting only drunken people were capable of; Chris had seen it multiple times nightly at his bartending job, and it never failed to amuse. He sat down next to Heather, who scooted closer to Anne to make room. 

“Chriiiiiis!” Anne said, leaning back against the leather to address him behind Heather’s back. “How are you?”

“I am just as well as when you last saw me on set three hours ago.”

She smiled and nodded as if he’d just delivered some profound thought. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Chris sat upright again and ordered a Coke from the waitress, trying to catch the thread of their ongoing conversation. 

It was an easy camaraderie they all shared, one borne of shared set experiences and inside jokes, and Chris realized in that moment how much he thrived on it. It wasn’t something he’d ever have though to be a benefit to the career path he’d chosen, but it was one he was grateful for. Performing, whether in front of a camera or on stage, made him feel like he belonged like nothing else he could imagine ever would. He felt the same way whenever Teddy showed some new skill he’d learned on his own, or asked Chris to teach him about something.

“Look at him over there, smiling,” Callum said, indicating Chris. His tone was friendly though slightly challenging. “Tell me, Mr. Pine, what have you got to look so happy about?”

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking how lucky I am to be doing this thing that I love, with a group of people I respect and admire.” 

“Already practicing the sound bites for press interviews—very smart,” Callum replied with a wink.

“That’s not it,” Chris protested, but it was too late, as the rest of the table began kidding him about his answer. “I just really like acting!” he said after a few minutes of it. “This film is a really great opportunity for me.”

“It is, and it’s your first movie. I get your excitement,” Heather said kindly, pressing up against him. “Don’t mind these drunken idiots, you should enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“Just mind you don’t get typecast,” she warned.

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Well, you should. This movie is great, and if it’s a success, there might even be another one and they might even ask you back, but you have to ask yourself if it’s what you want for yourself. Do you want to be playing to teeny-boppers for the rest of your career?”

“I don’t think I’ll be appealing to teeny-boppers for my entire career.”

“My point exactly. Just be careful of the roles you take, because now you’ve got this, your agent’s going to pressure you into taking more and more of them. And why not? The demand for them is huge at the moment, and it’s a steady paycheck, right? Only no one in one of these gigs ever got an Oscar, am I right?”

“You are right,” Anne agreed, holding her empty glass aloft for others to clink in mock toast to support the point Heather was making. 

“And there’s going to be a lot of them, Chris, a whole lot. And some of them are going to be good, but most of them are shitty. You just have to know when to say no.”

“If you _can_ say no,” Callum pointed out. “If it’s the difference between not working and starring in some piece of crap Lifetime movie, I’m pretty sure I know what my choice is going to be.”

“I hear you,” Anne answered emphatically.

“The trick is recognizing the one role that’ll help you break through, and taking a chance on it. Then there will be no more crap,” Heather said, pointing at them each individually with her beer bottle. “Unless you _want ___crap, of course, but then you have made a choice.”

“Huh,” Chris said, suddenly thoughtful as everyone else nodded emphatically. He had given the type of career he wanted a lot of thought. The kinds of roles that appealed to him were men who were conflicted, who had to call on some inner fortitude to prove themselves in the worst of circumstances. He thought he’d love to play a villain one day, that it would be an interesting challenge to call on those emotions. And he wasn’t sure, but he imagined himself playing in something iconic too, a project that would last for a long time, some big blockbuster, like maybe if they ever remade Star Wars, he’d be Han Solo.

“Now move out of the way, I gotta go pee,” Heather said, pushing on Chris’s shoulder. 

He got up to let her out, and when he sat back down Anne moved in to take up the space vacated by Heather. “You OK? You look kinda upset,” she asked.

“I’m not, I’m just… thoughtful. About what Heather said.” 

“She gives good advice.”

“Yeah, but how do I even know I’ll get a chance to make those kinds of choices?”

She shrugged. “Some of it’s luck, some of it’s talent. The hard part’s trying to pick your spot and just going for it. You think I’m going to be the teen queen the rest of my life? I’ve got my sights set on winning an Oscar someday. And maybe it’s ten years from now, or twenty, but every single choice I make keeps me on that path. They have to.”

Chris smiled wanly; this was all too much to think about. There must have been something in his face that looked pretty pitiful. Anne slid her arm through his and pulled him closer. “Anyway, stop looking so worried about it, you’ll do fine.”

“Who says so?”

“I say so.”

“Well then, if _you_ say so, I’d better believe it.”

“Damn right,” she said, hugging his arm tighter, and for the moment he believed her.

\----

The location shoot was scheduled to last two weeks. When they finally got to the fountain scene, the rehearsals with Anne paid off, and they only had to shoot it three times. Chris was glad—he could see how there could be a lot of unpleasant chafing.

The last thing scheduled for the location shoot were the scenes set at night. There was to be a romantic tête-à-tête where Nicholas spirited Mia away from the royal palace on horseback, and the first scene was a romantic, moonlit picnic. 

The production had built up an existing water feature at the back of the estate to make it look like a duck pond, trucking in grasses and actual water fowl who looked mildly disgruntled to be involved at all. Once the fog machines started, it all looked very romantic and appropriate. Nearby there was a wonderful old maple tree, with short, springy grass beneath it. This was where they set the first scene.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” was Chris’s first line in the scene. They were seated facing each other on a picnic blanket, playfully thumb wrestling. Their heads were close together, foreheads almost touching, and Chris tried really hard to concentrate on the scene and not the warm vitality of Anne’s hand in his. They’d already done the scene five times, and it was becoming a distraction.

“Tell me a secret,” she countered.

“Isn’t that the same?”

“Almost. But anyone can see your desires. No one knows what’s in your heart.”

“Tell me something.”

“Um, I love _I Love Lucy_ reruns. And sometimes I dream in black and white.”

“I used to pretend I was sick when I had a test in school.”

She cocked her head to one side, concentrating on catching his thumb with hers; he was able to prevent her every attempt pretty easily. “We all did that.”

“Ok. Sometimes I put chocolate milk on my cereal.”

She giggled. “I am deathly afraid of jellyfish.”

“I haven’t danced with you since your birthday.”

“That’s a fact not a secret.”

“The secret is that I still want to.” 

She looked up at him and he at her, and they both smiled.

“CUT!” Garry called, and the camera dollied back, the sound tech eased off with the boom mic, and everyone else relaxed as the director stared at his actors.

“That was really good, kiddoes. We’re gonna reset the cameras, and this time I want you to just say whatever comes to mind, all right?”

“What, improv the scene?” Anne had a delighted gleam in her eye as she leaned back to look up at Garry, who sat perched on his director’s chair several yards away. “Say anything we want?”

“Well, within reason, Annie. No dirty limericks or anything, but if I see something I like, I’ll use it. Otherwise, it’ll be something cute for the gag reel. Keep it real—put some of yourselves in there.”

“OK!” both Chris and Anne enthused, readying themselves for the scene.

A few minutes later, the cameras were reset and they were rolling again.

“Tell me your greatest desires.”

“No, tell me a secret.”

“Isn’t that the same?”

“Anyone can see your desires. No one knows what’s in your heart.” She half-heartedly tried to pin his thumb down.

“Tell me something.”

“I’ve never been stung by a bee.”

“I used to think Mrs. Butterworth was real.”

She giggled. “I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 16,” she confessed, looking into his eyes.

Chris didn’t know what he was thinking, but something in her open expression made him break character. “I’ve only ever been in love with one person,” he blurted. 

She dropped his hand. “What? Really?”

“I mean, I never got to dance with you. Since your birthday?” he said, trying to salvage the scene.

“Cut?” Garry called. He looked slid out of his chair and came over to them, a bewildered expression on his face. “That was good. That was, um, heartfelt and good, but maybe we leave the heavy emotional confessions for the scenes written to convey them?”

Chris dropped his head and nodded; he could feel his cheeks heating. “Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed both because he’d shared more than he’d wanted in front of two dozen Teamsters and his director, and because he’d ruined the take. A cooling hand on his face made him look up.

“Don’t be,” Anne said, smiling. “Ready to try again?”

\---- 

“Chris?”

“Hmm? Whuh?” Chris blinked sleepily up at Anne. He'd dozed off in his chair with his head propped on his fist. He didn't think he'd ever get used to shooting at night. Even though he used to work at the club until 3 most nights, at least then he kept moving. Here, all the waiting around added up to him being unable to keep his eyes open. 

“They're ready for us.”

Chris yawned and stretched extravagantly, and rubbed at his eyes. His contacts stuck to his eyeballs uncomfortably. “OK.”

He followed her over to the spot beneath the maple where they'd been shooting earlier. Nicholas and Mia were supposed to have a little slow dance montage here. Chris was thankful there were no lines. 

Garry stalked up to them as soon as they arrived, a manic ball of energy as usual. Chris didn’t know how he managed it at his age. “I want to keep the mood light and sweet kids, all right? We'll score this with some crap love song, so try not to ham it up too much, eh?” His eyes twinkled, so Chris knew he was kidding, but he also understood the importance of getting it right in as few takes as possible. The faster they could nail these scenes, the faster they'd all get to go home to their beds. 

Chris and Anne took their positions. Chris held his arms open and Anne stepped in close. She tucked her arms up against herself and pretended to shiver—apparently the evenings in Genovia were chilly this time of year. Chris laughed and folded his arms around her protectively. It felt good to be this easy with someone. 

She tilted her head back. “Was it true what you said before? You've only been in love once?”

“Yep.” He glanced over at where Garry was conferring with the lighting guy, mindful that everything they said might be overheard. “What about you?”

She paused, thinking. “Sometimes I think I fall in love too quickly. And sometimes I feel like I've never been in love at all, I mean not really. Because then when someone else comes along, I can just fall all over again. So how do I really know?”

“You'll know,” he replied, resting his chin on top of her head. “When you can't picture your life without them, even when they've hurt you worse than you thought possible. That's when you know.”

She looked up at him, lips pursed as if to say something more, but Garry called for quiet on the set and they settled into their characters. They danced close, hands joined and arms around each other. It was unbelievably intimate, and Chris found he could really sympathize with Nicholas. He had what he saw as huge responsibilities, both to his country and to his duty. Yet here he was falling in love--already in love?--with his rival. He must have felt torn, as torn as Chris sometimes felt when he had to balance his career with his responsibilities as a parent. Could he see his way to ever being with someone again? Should he when he had Teddy to think about?

Someone like Anne would certainly make it easier. She was fun and easy to be with and they made each other laugh. The kiss they'd shared the other day was nothing short of magnificent. She was also an actor so she'd totally understand the challenges his life could bring, more than another person. His parents has always said that both of them being actors had contributed a lot to their happy marriage. 

He looked down at Anne and smiled, because that's what Nicholas would do, but he didn’t feel it. 

“Was it Teddy's mother who hurt you so much?” she asked quietly. 

“Um. Yes.” He was self-conscious about speaking, though he knew they weren't being recorded. 

“What happened?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he explained. What was in the past should stay there. “She died.”

She looked mildly distressed, her brow furrowing, he was expecting the same reaction he always got, the _you poor thing_ and the _your poor motherless childs_. 

“Did you hate her?” she finally asked. “For dying?”

Chris blinked, looking at her in astonishment. No one had ever asked him that before, but of course it was true; irrational but true. How strange to hear someone else voice it, though. “It sure beats being angry at nothing.” 

She nodded her understanding and lay her head on his shoulder. “My cousin Lily died when I was 17. We were practically sisters, we were so close. One night, her first week at college, she went to a frat party and some people were smoking so they asked her if she wanted to too. Anyway, it must've been laced with something. She died before anyone noticed. I was so mad for so long,” she said into the fabric of the turtleneck he wore. “Like she did it on purpose, right? It was stupid and it kept me from really grieving, for a long time.”  
“Grief can be ugly,” Chris said, reflexively holding her tighter; the dad in him always wanted to give comfort. He could feel her nod against his chest, and stroked her hair. Anne slid her arms around his waist as they continued to sway back and forth. Somewhere behind them, the camera was dollying around, capturing it all. 

\----

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK_

“Come in?” Chris called. He'd just finished changing out of his Nicholas costume and into the cargo shorts and T-shirt he'd worn to set—despite the cool weather clothes the costume department had dressed them in, it was still late June in LA and he was grateful to remove the turtleneck and leather jacket. 

“Hey there,” Anne greeted. She held a Snapple mint iced tea with her. “That was a really great night's shooting just now.”

“I thought so too.” He grabbed the book he'd been reading earlier and shoved it in his bag. 

“You have any plans?” 

“Well it's nearly 3:00 am, I thought I'd go home and get some sleep.”

“Oh! Ha-ha, of course!” She tossed her head and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Of course.”

“Something up?”

“No.” He noticed the way her thumbnail pushed little furrows through the Snapple bottle's ice-softened label. “No, I was just wondering if you'd want to, you know, hang out after work one of these days. You know, when it's day.” 

“Like the other day?” He had to admit it was a lot of fun to be with his fellow actors and talk shop. He realized how much he loved hanging out with the guys at the Corp, not that he had the time lately. “That would be great, I just need a little advance notice is all. So I can get a sitter for Ted.”

“Of course. Yeah, sure.”

He continued to pack up his stuff for the night—his phone, keys, sunglasses he wouldn't need—and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. He went to the door and made to reach past Anne to get to the light switch, but she seemed rooted to the spot. He looked down at her, puzzled. Her eyes pointed anywhere but at him, brows furrowed, and she looked mildly distressed. He stepped back to wait for her to say whatever was on her mind.

“Would you like to go out with _me_ sometime?” she asked his upper arm. 

He blinked in surprise. “Oh! Uh...”

“You don't want to, that's ok,” she blurted, turning around to go. She turned back quickly and shoved the Snapple at him. “This is for you because it's your favorite,” she said before sprinting down the steps of his trailer. 

Chris looked down at the bottle he held and then at the empty space in his doorway. “Anne!” he called as he followed her. “Anne!”

“Forget I said anything,” she said over her shoulder as he ran to catch up to her. “It was stupid.”

“No, it wasn't!”

She stopped abruptly and he nearly ran her down. “No?”

“It was just a surprise, that's all. I thought we wanted to keep everything professional between us.”

“You're right, we shouldn't date, it's a recipe for disaster.” She held a hand out, as if she wanted him to shake it. When he didn't take it she dropped it to her side and gave it a little flick, like she was shaking water off it. 

“I never said that,” he said. “I really like you.” 

“You do?”

“I would love to go out with you.”

“Really?” Her smile could have powered the entire production. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, that was easier than I thought it'd be.”

“It didn't look like it from here.”

She waved a hand. “Well you know there were subtleties you probably didn't pick up on. It was a very... Nuanced... uh…”

He felt a sudden wave of fondness, and an impulse to hold her and for it to be real. He kissed her. 

“…performance,” she finished when he pulled away. He smiled. She smiled back. “You know, you guys make it look so much easier when you ask us girls out.”

“The operative word being 'look.' We're still scared shitless about it.”

“I guess now I understand.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Now that’s over with, maybe we could get back to the kissing? I excel at that!”

“I agree,” he said and pulled her closer.

\----

The memory of Anne's lips on his kept Chris buoyant—and awake—his entire drive home. All he could think about was the way she'd felt in his arms as they were kissing, her lips so warm and soft, and the way her eyes danced when she laughed. He grinned like an idiot all the way to his front door. 

He unlocked the door carefully and eased himself inside, not wanting to make a noise that would wake anyone. If Teddy didn't get his full eight hours he'd be cranky all morning and he wasn't about to inflict that on anyone. He locked up in the dark—it was something he could do with his eyes closed—and toed his shoes off so he wouldn't make any more noise than he needed to, leaving them under the bench beside the door. He moved over to the couch, leaning over the end table to switch the lamp on—and stared right at a sleeping Zach.

An undignified noise erupted from Chris as he jumped back with a hand clutching his chest. Zach opened his eyes, blinking and squinting up at him. “Hey,” he protested weakly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sleeping?” He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly 4:00,” Chris said, feeling bad for waking him. “Sorry I woke you—I had no idea you’d be here. Is everything OK?”

“It’s fine, Katie just asked if I’d babysit.” Zach yawned as he pushed himself upright and pulled his knees close to his chest; he wore black jeans, a Ramones T-shirt, and white tube socks. 

Chris sat down in the space he’d left. “What for?”

Zach shrugged. “She and Joe had a date? I guess it was a pretty good one if she’s not back yet.” Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know,” Zach said.

“Gross,” they said in unison.

Chris laughed. “Did Teddy behave for you?”

“As always, he was the perfect little gentleman.” Zach looked a little sheepish, “Though did you know he was afraid of the rocking horse in his room?”

“Oh yeah,” Chris replied. “That’s a new one. You have to cover it up with a blanket or else he screams bloody murder.”

“I wish someone had warned me. I offered to take it out, but he just said to cover it. Though it took a while to understand what he was saying.”

Chris winced; Teddy could cling to you like a limpet when he got really upset. He was sorry Zach had to deal with it. “I think it must look scary in the dark or something,” Chris assured him. “Little kids develop irrational fears sometimes, you just have to find ways for them to cope. I’m sorry you had to deal with it.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It was no big deal.” 

Chris suspected it was. “You want some tea? I think I need something to calm me down after tonight.”

“Sure,” Zach said, and followed Chris into the kitchen. “How’d filming go?” he asked as Chris filled the kettle from the tap and put it on the stove.

“It was great, actually. I am learning so much on this movie, and Mr. Marshall is being so patient with me. Everyone’s so nice about showing me what to do, it’s been a great experience.”

“’Mr. Marshall?’” Zach grinned.

“Shut up, he’s older than my dad, what else should I call him?” Chris threw a teabag at him. 

“What kinds of scenes did you do?”

“A midnight picnic with Anne. It was supposed to be romantic, I guess, but the stunt ducks were having none of it.”

“Stunt ducks?”

“You know, the ones they hired to look pastoral or whatever— _stunt ducks_. Anyway, they kept trying to escape, and their owner or trainer or whatever kept having to chasing them toward the water. Which was pretty funny, because ducks don’t exactly waddle all that fast, but there were a lot of them.”

“Guess they should have brought a border collie, like in _Babe_ ,” Zach said.

“Ha-ha yeah—I’ll mention it to him.”

“Any other scenes?”

“Some like, slow dancing,” Chris made his fingers do a slow walk in the air, as if that demonstrated it. “And some—ooo! They let us improv our lines a little, in the picnic scene?”

“How’d you do?”

Chris frowned. “Not very well. Something I need to work on, clearly. I just kind of broke character, it wasn’t good.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it happens all the time. “Were there kissing scenes?”

“Not really.”

“Oh? Cuz you have a little,” he rubbed his thumb against the side of his own mouth, “smudge or something.”

When Chris reached up, he could feel the smooth slick of Anne’s lipstick come away on his fingers; he glanced down at the dark pink tint on his fingertips and could feel the blood rush to his face. His eyes found Zach’s. “Zach, I—“

Zach’s face was strangely expressionless. “Don’t owe me any kind of explanation.”

“But I—“

“Your personal life is just that, Chris. Personal.”

They both looked away from each other, staring at the walls until the kettle boiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach tries to move on in more ways than one.

Zach chewed on his thumbnail waiting for the call to go through. 

“Yello!”

“Matt? Did I wake you?”

“Naw, it's almost 8:00. I'm on my way to the gym.”

Zach was disappointed, “Oh, you're back in New York?”

“Yep! But not for long though. I got that role I auditioned for, so I'm moving out there in a week.”

“Really? That's cool.”

“Don't sound so enthused, man.”

Zach picked at the tear in the knee of his jeans. “Sorry, I am. I was just hoping to have someone to talk to right now.”

“What's up?”

Zach looked out through his windshield at Chris's house; he was sitting in his parked car and hadn't left yet. As he watched, the light in the living room switched off; Chris was probably going to bed. In the distance, the sky was beginning to lighten as the sun rose. Zach sighed. 

“Is it that guy?” Matt asked. “Chris?”

“Yeah,” Zach said morosely, sinking down into the driver’s seat. Matt made sympathetic noises. “He's dating his co-star now.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I mean, he's got every right to, I have no claim on him. We had two dates and fooled around a grand total of once.” 

“It doesn't mean you can't be hurt though. You really liked him.” 

He liked him a lot; he's not quite sure what to do with the intensity of his feelings for Chris sometimes. “Yeah.”

“Look, I know you're trying to be a good friend to him now and everything, but maybe you need to dial that back. Unrequited love is only romantic in fiction, man. In real life it's kind of pointless and self-destructive.” 

“I suppose.”

“What?” Matt asked, clearly picking up on his reluctance. 

“I’m kind of in love with his kid now too. I can't just cut it off.”

“Well, it's you or them if you ask me. What'll you choose?”

\----

Zach's conversation with Matt did nothing to make him feel better. Since it was too late to go back to sleep and too early to do much of anything else, he decided to go for a run as soon as he got home. 

He chose the ten-mile route because he felt like punishing himself. It wasn’t until he’d collapsed on his bed later and Harold decided burrowing under his gross, sweaty t-shirt was a good idea that he even began to feel better. 

After a shower, he went to the Corp. Babar and Patrick, as was becoming more usual, were having a screaming fight when he arrived. Zach would be concerned except for the fact they never seemed to think they were screaming or fighting, as they had already screamed at him on more than one occasion. 

The subject of today's "discussion" was, apparently, whether Curly Joe Derita ought to have been considered a 'real' Stooge. 

“Dude, I'm telling you if he was sanctioned by the other two guys, then he was a legit member,” Babar said. 

Patrick shook his head. “Give me a break. He was cast because he was a fat guy who looked like Curly. I mean, look at his name for chrissakes, it was a total way to cash in.”

“Yeah, but I mean, they needed the money, right?” Zach asked. He nearly quailed when the two of them turned enraged eyes upon him. “What? I mean, they were broke at the time, and you can't blame them for trying to ride a wave of nostalgia on TV. It’s not as if the ‘Two Stooges’ would have held water. If anything, you should be arguing whether Moe and Larry were selling out, not whether Joe was an asshole for taking a job.” 

Patrick scoffed even as Babar made an outraged, choking sound. 

Thankfully, Zach’s cell phone rang. “Hey, shut up you guys, it’s my agent,” he said after checking the readout. 

“Zachary!”

“Marvin!”

“Hey there, kiddo, I got some good news for ya.”

“Oh yeah?” Zach tried to keep the lack of enthusiasm from his voice; Marvin really did good work for him, it was just that lately it had not amounted to much.

“They want to see you again at Fox for that thing with the guy.”

“You mean the show _24_ starring Kiefer Sutherland?”

“Yes, that. I told you they loved ya, kid!”

Zach refused to recognize the excited butterflies that had just come to life in his stomach as anything other than nerves. He was _not_ hopeful. He was not. “That’s great, Marv.”

“So listen, uh, it’s a little strange, but the person who wants to see you ain’t with the production company—they’re in development.”

That certainly was odd. Why would anyone at that level want to speak with him? It wasn’t as if he was being considered for a major role in the show. He felt a sudden sense of panic; had they somehow heard he was gay? Did they not want him because of it? No, that was dumb—if they didn’t want him, they could just cast someone else and he’d never know the difference. Maybe they just wanted assurances his _lifestyle_ wouldn’t become an issue. It certainly wouldn’t be unheard-of; studios used to have morality clauses in place for actors back in the day for just such a reason. Though it rankled, Zach could see their point; they wouldn’t want his sexuality to become the focus of a Top Ten show, and he didn’t want that either. He was very private about that part of his life, at least where it came to his professional persona, and he would have to be a big star before ever thinking of coming out. Unless the tide of sentiment in this country changed, he was going to remain in the closet for the foreseeable future.

“That’s strange, isn’t it?” Zach said.

“Possibly not,” Marv said. “You know how it is.”

Zach didn’t, not really, but he didn’t let on. “Sure. So who am I going to see?”

\----

Zach walked into the vast and gleaming lobby at 20th Century Fox Television and felt a stab of agoraphobia. Everywhere he looked was glass and sunlight, the space scrubbed clean of anything resembling character. At the far end of the lobby sat a security desk that more closely resembled the command bridge on the Death Star than a visitor-friendly or welcoming space. He swallowed his nerves and approached. 

“Hi, I’m Zachary Quinto and I have a 10:30 appointment with Mr. McArdle?”

The young woman behind the desk checked her computer diffidently, then glanced up at him distastefully. “Sign in?” she ordered.

Zach looked down at the guest book that rested on the top of the desk. “Do you have a pen?”

She rolled her eyes and presented him with a badly-chewed Bic, then went back to doing something with her computer. Presently, a nearby printer spat out a pre-printed sticker that had his name on it just above a large VISITOR label. She handed it to him and he stuck it to his jacket. “You want the 23rd floor; follow the corridor back to the elevators.”

“Which suite?” Zach asked. She stared at him blankly. “On 23? Is he in?” When she still did not respond, he added, “I’ll just ask around when I get up there, shall I?” 

Zach followed the corridor back and, luckily, an empty elevator awaited him. When he arrived on the 23rd floor, he saw why he did not get a straight answer to the question of McArdle’s office number—his department took up the entire floor. As he got off the elevator, he was greeted by a beautiful young woman at reception, who introduced herself as “Maya” and practically begged him to let her bring him a coffee. 

The reception area reflected the glass sterility of the ground floor, but it had a few personalized touches—a sculpture of an indistinct yet unmistakably phallic bronze blob along one wall corner, a Leroy Neiman painting on another. Zach wasn’t sure if he was meant to be impressed or not.

He’d just finished his espresso when he was called-for by another young woman, who was apparently Mr. McArdle’s personal assistant. He was ushered through to a secondary reception area and asked to wait while another espresso was presented to him. It was barely in his hands when another young woman came to fetch him. 

He was led to a huge, antique door that looked like something he would have expected to see on a 13th century church in Spain or something. The young woman, who had not introduced herself, rapped on the heavy door using the giant brass ring bolted into it. She gave a slight nod, as if acknowledging she had permission for them to enter, though Zach hadn't heard anyone say anything. This was all so strange and surreal to him, the huge offices, the beautiful assistants. He’d say he was in the middle of some crappy soap opera if he wasn’t actually living this moment. 

McArdle’s personal office was vast, taking up probably a quarter of the space on the entire floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city and the Hollywood Hills in the distance. The space was absolutely flooded with morning light, leaving Zach to wish he’d not left his sunglasses in his car. Several couches and chairs had been set up to form a conversation pit at the far corner of the room, with what looked like a wet bar nearby. And in the near end of the office, sitting at a huge antique desk, was the man himself. Zach felt the butterflies in his stomach turning into stones, dropping in his gut with an immediate crash. 

“Well, hidey ho!” the man Zach had met the night Matt had found him at work”—the one Zach only ever thought of as _Teeth_ —said cheerfully. He looked up from an open file folder on his desk that Zach could see contained his headshot. 

“Hi!” Zach said, springing into friendly mode immediately. “I remember you! Teeth—no, _Mr McArdle_ —smiled at the recognition. “Did your date ever call you that night?”

“He did, he did. Turned out he was stuck behind a pileup on the 101.”

“You see? He must be one conscientious young man!”

“I suppose he is. Will you have a seat?” He sent his assistant off with a wave of his hand.

Zach took one of the seats in front of the desk and realized he was still holding a tiny cup of espresso. He awkwardly swallowed what remained of it and cast about for what to do with it. There were no coasters in sight, and the desk looked really expensive. He supposed he could set the thing on the floor, but the carpet, too, looked pretty pricey. He settled for cradling the thing in his hands, like a small and delicate bird he was taking care not to injure. 

“I'll bet you're wondering why you're meeting with me of all people. I mean I'm in charge of development, and you’re up for a role in an established series!”

Zach raised his eyebrows, feigning as much surprise at he thought he could get away with. 

“I know it's odd.” McArdle stood abruptly. “Pellegrino?”

“No, Quinto.” 

“Ha-ha! No, I meant do you want some Pellegrino?” He walked over to the wet bar and opened a small refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of sparkling water and a couple of glasses from somewhere, found ice and cut-up lemons. He picked up the two glasses, but instead of returning to his desk, he went over to the conversation pit and sat down. 

“Where are you from?” McArdle asked from across the wide expanse of the office. At least that was what it sounded like he said. 

“Pittsburgh,” Zachary called out, wondering at the question; the info was readily available on his resume, and he knew the man had been reading it. It was awkward to have to yell across the room too, but Zach was too nervous and unsure of the protocol. 

“What?”

“What?”

“I asked,” McArdle repeated, more loudly this time, “is this your first role with Fox?”

“Oh!” Zach said, feeling stupid. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

McArdle gestured to him. “Why don't you come over here? It's a lot more comfortable.” He leaned back against the couch he sat on and patted the seat cushions, smiling. The bright sunlight made it seem as if his teeth glowed. 

Zach rose somewhat reluctantly and made his way over. He took a seat at the opposite end of the couch from McArdle, as far away from the glass of water that was meant for him as he could politely get. He set the espresso cup he still held down and sat on his hands, unconsciously making himself as small as possible. 

“So you're from Pittsburgh, I saw you went to CMU. Did you know Ted Danson?” 

“He was _just_ a bit before my time.”

“Too bad, I was hoping for some insider information.”

“Or blackmail fodder, ah—ha-ha-ha!” Zach could feel the back of his neck heating up. Jesus what was wrong with him?

“As I was saying, I know it's odd for someone like me to take any kind of interest in casting decisions at this level. Hell, you might even say it's none of my business who they cast for the minor roles.”

“You might!” Zach said because he had to say something. “Not me! Ah ha ha!”

“But this show is the keystone to the network's entire schedule, and it's important—at least to me—that we showcase as much up and coming young talent on it as we possibly can.” He sat back against the plush white leather of the couch, legs splayed wide. 

Zach wasn't sure if McArdle intended meant to put his junk on display, but there it was, standing out in stark relief inside the cream-colored linen pants he wore. Zach stared at the man's face as if looking anywhere else would turn him to stone. 

“Fox likes to be seen as a talent maker, and I am on board with that goal. I take it personally, do you understand?” McArdle went on. 

“Yes, Mr. McArdle,” Zach said. 

“Please call me Sam.”

“Sam,” Zach amended, his lips feeling rubbery all of a sudden. 

“And when your resume crossed my desk with all the others under consideration for the secondary characters, why, I asked Joel for your tape that very afternoon.”

Zach didn't know whether to be flattered or skeeved. “Really?”

“I recognized you from that night at the restaurant. You were so nice. And funny.”

“I don't mean to be.”

“Nice or funny?”

“Uh...”

“Oh you!” Sam laughed, lunging forward to slap Zach's knee with one large hand. That he left there. Massaging lightly. “You're a real cut-up. I told Joel that.”

“Really?”

“It's important to have intelligent actors who can keep the mood light on set.”

“I'm also _very_ professional. I mean, it's not all laughs when the cameras are rolling, it can’t be.”

“Of course, of course.” He smiled and Zach smiled back. “It's also important to me, Zachary, that certain _types_ of people are cast, you know?” He leaned forward then, and his hand tightened on Zach’s thigh. 

Zach swallowed. “You mean like... uh, swarthy southern Europeans?” 

“I think you know what I mean.” He leaned in even closer, and Zach noticed he was wearing colored contact lenses. He could always tell when people were wearing fakes because the color was always too perfect, and there were never any flaws in the iris. Regular eyes had spots on them, or changed color depending on lighting or the person's mood. Chris had the most amazing dark rings around his irises, they were almost black against the bright blue of the rest of his eyes. Zach always marveled at the contrast. 

“I think you're going to have to spell it out for me, Sam,” Zach replied, his eyes still on Sam’s hand on his leg. “I'm feeling just a little, um, thick this morning.” 

Sam’s eyes glittered as the smile left his face. “Why don't you have dinner with me tonight and I'll explain it then?”

Zach thought back to earlier that morning when he’d gotten cash at an ATM and made the mistake of looking at his bank balance. He took a deep breath. “What time’s good for you?”

\----

“You are a shameless hussy,” Zach accused his reflection in his rear view mirror after he'd pulled into Joe's driveway later that morning. “I am a professional actor,” he reminded himself before turning off the engine and getting out of the car. 

He noted Katie's car beside Joe's motorcycle as he got to the front door. “I'm back!” he called out loudly, not wanting to walk in on anything between his brother and his girlfriend.

“Mr. Zach!”

The sight of Teddy running through from the kitchen lifted Zach's mood a lot faster than the Bloody Mary he had been contemplating ever would.” 

Teddy stopped short of Zach and jumped, arms outstretched, as Zach bent over to catch him, lifting him up over his head. 

“Airplane! Nyoom! Zach shouted as Teddy spread his arms out and laughed with delight. A moment later, he put the boy down, and grinned down at him. “My goodness I am very happy to see you!”

“You are?” Teddy squirmed with delight. 

“Of course I am,” Zach said, taking Teddy's hand and walking him back to the kitchen. “You're my most favoritest kid” in the entire world!

“I am?”

“Yep! Every day I get to spend with you is a good day.”

“Really?” Katie said, raising an eyebrow as they came through the kitchen doorway.

“Of course,” Zach said, leaning over to give her a light hug. In the last weeks, the two of them had seen a fair amount of each other, whether it was when she came over to be with Joe or when Zach would babysit Teddy. Whatever coolness she had shown over his behavior toward Chris had thankfully thawed and he thought he might even consider her a friend. Or at least an ally. “He's the best kid ever. What brings you guys over?”

“We thought we'd give Chris a chance to sleep in a bit. Night shoots are murder.”

“I somehow don't think he minds them much,” Zach said, remembering the way Chris's eyes lit up when he talked about Anne the other morning.

“Hmm?”

“I think he's having a little on-set romance with his leading lady.” 

“Oh?” Katie said, looking interested for a hot second until she realized who she was taking to. She winced. “Oh.” 

“It's ok, really.” 

“Liar,” Joe said as he came breezing into the kitchen.

“Shut up.”

“Shut up's a bad word Mr. Zach!” Teddy warned.

“So should _you_ be saying it?” Katie asked him archly. 

Teddy grinned and danced away. He retreated to the corner of the kitchen, where he picked up the feather on a stick that was Harold's favorite toy and proceeded to entice the kitten to play. 

“Where were you this morning?” Joe asked. 

“Had an appointment with the head of development at Fox Television,” Zach replied. 

“What, are you pitching a show?” Katie asked, confused. 

“No, he asked to meet me.”

“They do that, development executives?”

“They do if they want to date actors. He asked me to dinner tonight.”

“Oh. Sorry. What are you gonna do?”

“He's not gonna go, that's what,” Joe said. 

Zach looked at him with a raised brow. “Says you?”

“You're dang right!” Joe said vehemently, an eye on Teddy as he clearly struggled to keep his language G-rated. “You're a serious, talented actor, Zach. You don't need to get a job that way.”

Zach was touched by his brother's reaction, but he didn't know if he had much choice. “You know, if it was a year ago, I think I'd agree with you, but good roles are few and far between for a guy like me, and this is a shot at a weekly paycheck, Joe. What'll it hurt?”

“Only your integrity!”

“Yeah, well I'm afraid that's available at fire sale prices these days. I've got rent to pay.”

“You know that's not even a consideration, baby bro.”

“I know, but please, can you give me a break? This is my choice.” 

“Doesn't sound like it's much of one,” Katie pointed out, holding her arms open sympathetically. Zach gratefully let her hug him tightly. “Is he at least attractive?”

Zach laughed into her hair and then jumped as he felt a pair of small arms slip around his hips. “What are you hugging me for?” he asked Teddy.

“I like hugs!”

Zach laughed and got down on one knee. “And I love getting them!” he said, taking advantage of the child's sweet nature for some much-needed ego affirmation. 

“I love you, Mr. Zach,” Teddy whispered into his ear. 

“Really?” Zach asked, completely taken off guard. I… I love you too, little man.” He pulled the child closer and squeezed him tight and glancing up at Katie with shining eyes. 

“I wouldn't get too emotional baby bro, he loves gummy worms too,” Joe wisecracked. 

Zach flipped him off behind Teddy's back. 

“Mr. Zach! Mr. Zach!” Teddy said, squirming out of Zach's arms and bouncing up and down excitedly. “I just remembered I have to ask you something!”

“You do? Ask me! Ask me!”

“Will you come to my birthday party?”

“What? Of course, I wouldn't miss it. When is it?”

Teddy looked down at his hands and held up all but one finger. “In these many sleeps.”

“It's on the Fourth of July,” Katie explained. “Every year, my parents a huge bash. You can say no—I know it's a bit last minute for a major holiday.” 

“You can definitely count me in,” Zach said. “I really wouldn't miss it for the world. How 'bout you?” he asked Joe. “You going?”

“I am.”

Zach glanced from Katie to Joe and back again. “Wait a minute, is this you meeting the parents for the first time?”

“It might be.” 

“Aw man, now I really wouldn't miss it! I mean, even if I was in a coma I would be there. Katie, promise me if I'm in a coma you'll bust me out of the hospital and allow me to witness this wondrous occasion. Joe actually going to meet a girlfriend’s family. I don’t think I ever thought this would happen.” 

“Man, shut the hell up!”

“Language, Mr. Joe,” Katie chided, but Zach could tell she was amused. “And anyway, I don’t know why you’re so intimidated. Zach’s met them, he doesn’t think they’re scary.”

“Zach’s not dating their daughter.”

“Thank god for that!” both Zach and Katie said in unison. They pointed at each other and laughed.

\----

Zach settled into the back of the town car that had been sent to his house to pick him up, watching the landscape gradually open up as they got nearer to Malibu. 

He’d gotten a call from one of Sam’s many assistants earlier in the day, confirming his address, and telling him that he should expect the car at 7:00. He didn’t know quite how to deal with that information—what did it mean about him that he was being ferried to and from an assignation with a powerful Hollywood executive in a hired car? It was simultaneously surreal and all too real.

He took his time showering and dressing, settling on a pair of snug yet comfortable black jeans and a black, lightweight cashmere sweater of Joe’s he knew was see-through in certain light. “Might as well dress the part,” he sighed as he slipped his shoes on over bare feet. 

The driver was a non-descript type, who resisted Zach’s every attempt at small talk by grunting one-word answers. To kill the time, Zach imagined he was being taken somewhere far more exciting—the premiere of his first big movie, maybe, some big summer flick with a huge budget and positive buzz, one that would finally make him a household name. He’d be the star, and his arrival was being timed to be last and garner the most attention. He imagined all the interviews he’d have to conduct on his way to the theater, all the autographs he’d sign. He didn't usually indulge himself in such silliness, but thinking about where he was really going tonight was the unattractive alternative. 

The drive lasted less time than he thought it would, and soon found himself walking up the drive of a palatial house built right on the beach. The place looked like something the bad guy in a James Bond movie would own, all minimalist lines and cool, open spaces. Zach could hardly believe such places actually existed anywhere other than the pages of Architectural Digest, and he momentarily forgot why he was there as he walked up to the front door open-mouthed and rang the bell. 

“Zachary,” Sam said with a warm smile when he opened the door. He looked relaxed in beige linen trousers and a light gauge silk sweater that hugged his broad expanse of chest snugly. Zach felt a small niggle of attraction for a fleeting moment. “Won't you come in?” 

Zach smiled in greeting as he stepped over the threshold and into the foyer. He barely contained openly staring at the exquisite design of the first floor. It was built on a vast, open plan with sight lines through to the back of the house, where what was going to be an absolutely stunning sunset was just beginning. 

“Thanks for coming all the way out here,” Sam went on. “I usually don't invite dates here, but I was feeling all homey tonight. I hope you like pasta.” 

“Thanks for having me,” Zach said, immediately regretting his word choice. “And, um yeah, _of course_ I like pasta! I only hope this wine will live up to your cooking.” Zach held out a bottle of Montepulciano Katie made him bring. 

“You'll have to be the judge of that. Come inside?”

He led the way to the kitchen, a space that would make Julia Child herself gag with envy. It had a huge, six-burner gas range and a refrigerator big enough to store a dead body in. The counters were some beautiful kind of cream-colored stone that seemed to shine from within, and the floors were what looked like polished slate. He was certain he was supposed to know what all of it was—and he knew Katie would be disappointed if he didn't come back with a full inventory—but his life’s experience had not prepared him for this kind of thing. Kitchen: nice.

Sam handed the wine back to him. “You mind opening it up?” he asked, hunting down a corkscrew and a pair of glasses. Zach was happy to have something to do with his hands. 

The wine was only ok, but since Zach wasn't driving himself home he quickly finished his first glass and was well into the second before dinner was ready. It was something involving veal scaloppini and mushrooms, and it was all perfectly cooked.

“This is _really_ good,” Zach felt compelled to say, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Don't sound so surprised,” Sam said with good humor.

“I guess most of my dates don't really know a scaloppini from a scallop.”

“I'm half Italian.”

“Me too!”

Sam smiled, acknowledging it. “My parents owned an Italian restaurant back in Providence. My mother ran front of house, but the recipes were from her family. If you like this, you should taste my _bracciole_.” 

Zach smiled and tucked back into the meal. They spent the rest of it making pleasant small talk. That and the three glasses of wine Zach drank went a long way to loosening him up and helping him forget why he was there, at least for the moment. By the time they were clearing up, he found he actually liked Sam. 

Dessert was zabaglione over fresh summer berries—Zach stood watching as Sam made the custard from scratch at the stove—and before he knew it, he found himself parked on Sam's couch with a cup of espresso and a shot of Sambuca. 

“ _Salute_ ,” Sam said, holding his own snifter high. He'd floated three espresso beans in each—the traditional number for health, happiness and prosperity—and Zach found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight of him tilting his head back as he drank. He had a thick, powerful neck and large hands; Zach wondered how often he worked out. Then Sam smiled, and the spell was broken as Zach caught sight of the horrendous caps or veneers or whatever some accursed dentist had affixed to the man’s teeth. 

“ _Cin cin_ ,” Zach responded, and drained his glass. The sweetness of the liqueur coated his mouth even as the alcohol numbed it, and he licked his lips extravagantly. “Mmm yummy.” 

“I think you're a little drunk,” Sam observed. 

Zach smiled at him in what he hoped was a flirtatious way. There may have been eyelash-batting. “Only a little.”

“I want to state for the record that that was not my aim tonight,” Sam said, and slid closer to Zach on the couch. 

Zach glanced down at the hand that now rested lightly on his inner thigh. “Maybe it was mine.” 

“You need to be drunk to be with me?”

“I’m just a little nervous.” He rested his own hand atop Sam’s and looked up at him through his lashes. Sam took that as an invitation, tilting Zach’s chin up with his other hand and leaning in for a kiss. 

It wasn’t so bad. _Sam_ wasn’t so bad. He was a decent kisser, even if there was a pervasive saliva issue, and something in his nose was whistling. Thankfully a full belly and all the wine had mellowed Zach enough to ignore it. It wasn’t quite like screen kissing, which was a little more technical, to ensure the camera/audience felt they were part of it, but it was close. And this _was_ a performance, Zach had no doubt of that in his mind.

Comparisons to Chris were the last thing he wanted to dwell on, for a variety of reasons, so of course that was all he could think about. Chris was so sweet when he was kissed, almost submissive, though he had no qualms about turning things to suit his own desires if he had a mind to. Zach found himself missing that, as well as the small sounds Chris would make, the way Zach could feel his heart thudding in his chest when they were close together. _Being_ close together. 

“No!” Zach said, pushing Sam away before he knew what he was doing.

“What?”

“No. Oh, no, no, no.”

“What is it?” 

“I'm sorry.” Zach pulled away and covered his face with his hands. “I'm sorry, I know there's a way these things are supposed to go, and earlier I convinced myself that I could be that guy that I could do that, but it turns out I'm not.” 

“Not what kind of guy?

He lowered his hands and spoke to his lap, mumbling, “The kind that sleeps around to get roles.” 

When there was no response, he looked up. Sam had a stony kind of expression on his face. Zach quailed but forced himself to go on, “And you're really nice too. I like you a lot, but no. I'm sure I'll regret it. You see… there's someone else and...”

_God was he starting to tear up?_

“…and he's really special? Even if he has moved on to someone else. And I don’t know why I feel this way when he has, but I can’t… you know… with you. It’s like I have to show him I'm worthy or something. Oh God, I’m really drunk.” He sniffled, dashing the tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I'm sorry you don't need to hear all this. I'll go now.” He stood.

“Wait!” Sam said, grabbing Zach’s wrist. “What do you mean ‘sleeping around to get roles’? That's not what this is. I have no say in casting decisions.”

“You mean you were going to fuck me and _not_ cast me?” He pulled his hand away. “You unbelievable asshole!” 

“What? No! I would never do that! Did you think that? That is not what this is, Zach, I swear.”

Zach blinked at him, trying to determine if he was being sincere, but if he was being honest with himself, he was too drunk to know. “Well… then... all right.” He sat back down, tentatively, on the edge of the couch. “I'm so confused.”

“Look…” Sam began, reaching out to touch and then thinking better of it. He sighed. “I didn't realize that's what you thought this was. I just thought you were cute and might want to go on a few dates. That is all.” 

“But you said you liked to see that certain types of people got cast... didn’t you mean people who would sleep with you?” 

“No, I meant I was keeping an eye out to be sure young gay actors got seen by the casting agents if I can. You know—put in a good word. I mean, it's against studio policy, so that's why I was being a little sketchy about it. But I like to keep an eye out, you know? And give actors advice? I'm sorry Zach, I legitimately thought we had a connection. After that night at the restaurant? That's the only reason I asked to meet with you.”

“The only reason?”

“OK, so maybe I thought my offices would impress you, but I swear that was it. I just think you’re really hot.”

“Oh.” Zach nodded his understanding. “Thank you.” He sniffed and scrubbed his face with both hands. “I’m sorry I thought you were a perv.”

“I’m sorry you thought I was a perv, too.” They sat in awkward silence a moment. “But do you think… do you think other guys have felt that way too? That I was taking advantage?”

Zach thought back to his conversation with Matt that night. “Well…”

“Oh my God _I AM A PERV!!!_ ” 

“I mean, not knowingly,” Zach pointed out.

“Yeah, but how many guys have thought that over the years? Christ, I just thought I was a real stud.”

“Oh, um…”

“Wow, this has been an eye-opening evening.”

“Sorry? For what it’s worth, you’re a really nice guy, and a great cook.”

“Who sexually harasses young actors who cross my path.”

“Only technically. I mean, pffft!” He waved his hand. “Lookit me. Not fer nothin’, but I was on board. What’s that say about me?”

“But at least you said something—stood up for yourself.”

“Fat lot of good it’s done—you now know you’re a perv and I still have no job.” He sighed. “I think I hate this town.”

\----

**Nine Days Later**

July 4th dawned bright, sunny, and hot—a typical summer’s day in southern California. 

His disastrous date with Sam was the last Zach heard about the role on _24_ and he spent the intervening time trying desperately not to think about it. 

When he arrived for the Pine family’s annual barbecue, he could hear the party in full swing in the back yard. Zach could hear kids laughing and shouting happily as he walked up the path to the front door, which had a sign on it, “Come On In!!” that had been colored neatly in red, white, and blue crayon—presumably by Teddy. 

Zach legitimately liked the Pines, they were good and kind people and Gwynne had an acerbic wit and a wry delivery that would have done her well on any standup stage. Bob was like his son, funny and intelligent and completely oblivious to his appeal. While Chris had been working on the film, Zach had been lending a hand from time to time in looking after Teddy, and his good deeds had not gone unnoticed, if his greeting from Bob was any indication. 

“Zachary me boyo, I'm glad to see ya,” Bob Pine said in a cartoonish Irish accent, greeting Zach as he walked through to the kitchen with the same crinkled-eyed smile his son had inherited. 

Zach smiled back, feeling warm inside; the sense of belonging he got when he came here felt oddly right and he never questioned it. He looked out of the sliding glass doors of the large kitchen to the backyard, where about a dozen adults had congregated around the pool, chatting and drinking while keeping an eye on the children in the pool. Presiding over what looked like an elaborate float-based jousting tournament using pool noodles as spears, bobbed a familiar dark blond head. Chris stood in the center of the pool while a kid on a Shamu float and another on a sea monster paddled desperately toward each other. On the sidelines stood Teddy, purple floaties on his upper arms, shouting encouragement to the older kids. 

“Wow, the party is really in high gear, huh?”

Bob rumbled a laugh and handed Zach a beer from a case he had just removed from the fridge. “Gwynnie wouldn't have it any other way. She loves having the house full of people, and Ted’s birthday is no exception.”

“He sure looks like he's having the time of his life.” 

“Anything to distract, right?” Bob said, raising his eyebrows and walking toward the door with the box. Zach opened the door for him and followed him outside. 

“Oh, right,” Zach said, suddenly serious. He recalled that Teddy's mother had been killed over Fourth of July weekend. “I’m sorry.”

“My wife thinks dwelling on the pain of the past is not constructive, and that joy can heal.”

“What do you think?”

Bob lifted the lid on the cooler and Zach helped him shove the beer bottles down into the ice. “I think the kid deserves to not feel guilty for the circumstances of his birth, and so I'm happy to go along.”

“And Chris?”

Bob looked like he was considering his answer carefully, and a resigned expression crossed his face. “I don't know what he thinks. I do know he wants his son to be happy.”

Zach looked back out at the pool, where Teddy was now sitting on Chris's shoulders, cheering for the jousters. He smiled as he felt a burst of fondness for the boy. “Who wouldn't?”

When he looked back up at Bob, the man had a twinkle in his eye that Zach couldn't place. 

\----

They returned to the kitchen to find Katie just coming in, a man following in her wake. It took Zach a moment to recognize his own brother. He was wearing pastel plaid shorts with a coordinating polo and, if Zach wasn't mistaken, Sperry fucking boat shoes. A far cry from his usual black t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket, that was for sure. Zach bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. Katie looked at him like she was reading his mind. “Daddy, this is Joe Quinto,” she said, going up on tiptoes to kiss her father on the cheek.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Joe said, holding out his hand. 

“Quinto?” Bob said, looking back and forth between Joe and Zach. “Are you two... related?”

Katie rolled her eyes. “You know very well they're brothers, Daddy.”

Bob winked. “Well, any relation of Zachary’s is welcome in this house!”

Zach met Joe's somewhat shocked look over Bob's head and smirked. 

“Katie's told me all about you, Joe,” Bob went on warmly. “I can't wait to hear about your photography, it's a particular interest of mine.” 

“Is it, sir?

“Ever since I was a kid and saved all my allowance to buy a Brownie. I miss that camera!”

“Some of those old ones still take great pictures.”

“You calling me old, son?”

“Oh! Well, I, um…”

Bob laughed. “I’m just screwing with you—I’m as old as the hills. Tell me more about your work while we build the bonfire out in the yard, all right?

“Sure!” Joe said enthusiastically, shooting a bemused look back at Zach and Katie, who gave him a thumbs-up. Bob draped an arm around his shoulders as they walked out of the house into the yard.

“Well I'd say that went well,” Zach remarked. “Guess all that worrying over your dad giving him a hard time was over nothing.”

Katie smirked. “I may have played it up more than I ought to have. My dad’s usually pretty chill about the people we date. I just wanted to take Joe shopping.”

Zach snorted. “I wondered if you had a hand in that get up. He looks like two scoops of sherbet.”

“Ha! I swear I didn't mean for him to wear it all at once.”

“It works surprisingly well though,” Zach laughed, surprised he meant it. 

“Who knew there was a suburban dad in there just desperate to come out?”

“Not me!”

“You been here long?” Katie asked, taking the beer from his hand and having a sip.

Zach shrugged. “Not really, just long enough to say hello to your dad. And grab a beer.” He pointedly took his back from her and took a sip. “So who are the people out there?” Zach asked. “I think I recognize about five of them.”

Katie peeked over his shoulder and pointed out her aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as a number of long-time neighbors who the Pines were close with. 

“I notice none of them are from Desi’s side of the family.” Zach pointed out. 

“Oh. Well.” She took his beer back, saw he’d drunk most of it and made an annoyed sound. “They don’t really come around here much.” Zach raised his eyebrows. “After Desi died, there were threats of a custody fight over Teddy.”

“Yikes.”

“It was fairly horrible, on both sides. Lots of lawyers and posturing, until Chris stepped up and told them all off. Threatened to drop out of school and take Teddy back east where Dad’s family are. Shut them all right up with his righteous anger. It was truly a wonder to behold.”

“Yes, I have beheld something similar,” Zach said, recalling Chris’s laying into him that day at the Corp. “Another beer?” He went to the fridge to look for some before she had a chance to answer.

“Chris’ll take Teddy over there for a second party tomorrow,” Katie added. “Teddy loves them and it’s important to Chris that he be close to them. But he’ll never ask them for anything.”

Zach nodded his understanding.

Behind them, the sliding door to the deck opened and closed yet again as Chris entered, interrupting their conversation. He was wet from the pool, a towel around his neck that he used to scrub at his hair. 

“Hey man!” he said happily when he saw Zach. He strode forward and they shook hands and bumped shoulders, just like good friends did. “Thanks for coming. Teddy will be very excited to see you.”

There was a screech out back as Teddy and a host of kids ran across the lawn. 

“Once he’s less excited by playing with his friends and cousins,” Chris added.

“I'm happy to be invited. I didn't really have plans for today.” 

“You're in for a treat, then. Bob and Gwynne really go all out every year. You can see the fireworks from Downtown from the bottom of the yard, and then there's the bonfire.”

“Can’t miss that,” Katie said. “Chrissy, you are dripping all over the floor,” she pointed out. “Mom is gonna murder you.”

Chris rolled his eyes and dropped the towel on the floor, mopping up the water and then standing on it so he could talk to Zach. “You been here long?”

“Only a few minutes.”

“Who was that human Lacoste ad I saw leaving with Dad?”

“Joe,” Katie said as Zach snorted into his beer bottle. “Daddy's taken him down to set up the fire.” 

Chris rolled his eyes. “Katie, are you sure about that? I mean remember the last time?”

“Give me a break that was a one-time thing.” 

“What happened?” Zach asked.

“This was the first guy Katie brought around. Ed or something. She was a college freshman, I think.”

“I was a sophomore,” she corrected. “And his name was Steve.”

“Right. So she brings his guy over for the 4th of July like its nothing, like he’s been here before, no big deal. She never told the parentals, the dude just shows up, calling them ‘Bob’ and ‘Gwynne’ like they’re old tennis buddies down at the club. Dad asks him to help out with the bonfire and they go down there—“

Katie covered her eyes with a hand, shaking her head even as she’s laughing along with Chris.

“So Dad makes a big deal out of chopping the wood first. Like asks the guy if it’s anything he’s ever done, and of course not, he’s some douchebag pseudo-intellectual New York prick or whatever.”

“He was from Connecticut,” Katie supplied.

“OK, even worse! Then Dad starts asking the guy about his relationship with Katie, says he wants to be sure this dude’s a nice, respectful boyfriend, you know? He’s saying shit like, ‘You respect my daughter, it means you respect me,’ and swinging the axe around all menacingly, hair all wild. And like he’d been shooting this pilot for NBC where he was playing some hippie college professor, so his hair’s all long and he hadn’t shaved in like a month.”

“Oh my God, what happened?” Zach asked, laughing.

“The axe accidentally-n-purpose- lands right between the dude’s feet and he ran for the hills.” 

“That's not all, you missed the most important part!” Katie said, crowding up against Chris playfully. “Ew wet. Anyway I did _not_ just bring him over, he'd been here one time before.”

“What? When?” Chris asked.

“Over spring break, earlier in the year. He spent the weekend when you guys were out on Catalina.”

Chris's eyes got as large as saucers. “That time dad had to come back to film that commercial? What happened?”

Katie stared at a point on the ceiling. “He… may have caught me and Steve skinny dipping.”

Chris covered his mouth with one hand. “Ooooooooo!!”

“You hussy,” Zach accused. 

“I know!”

“So your father was justified in defending his daughter's honor,” Zach pointed out.

“Psssh! My honor was long gone by then.”

“Then my brother is safe from axe-wielding middle-aged actors?” Zach asked. 

“That all depends,” Chris mused. “How's he treating my sister’s honor?”

“About as well as I treated yours,” Zach quipped. 

There was a prolonged moment of silence before the joke landed during which Zach died a thousand times. Luckily, the others erupted in hoots and laughter. 

“While I have no complaints, I'm not so sure our father's point of view would be the same,” Chris said.

“I'd better go check on them,” Katie said and left the kitchen abruptly. 

Chris's grin persisted, and he looked at Zach with dancing eyes. “How you been man? Really? I know I haven't been around much lately.”

“Good. I'm mostly good.”

“Only mostly?”

Zach thought about his life the last few weeks, the utter lack of auditions, or even the hint of them, his disastrous 'date' with Sam, and shook his head. “Tell me about filming. How’s that going?”

They chatted for a few more minutes before Chris begged off, citing the need to take a quick shower and change. Most of the guests had yet to arrive and he wanted to be able to help his parents out on hosting duties.

\----

An hour later, Zach sat at one of the picnic tables that had been set up on the lawn, not really participating in a conversation among a group of young women he thought were Chris’s cousins. Glancing over toward the house, he saw Chris emerge, escorting Anne. He paused to get them both a beer from the cooler, the two of them talking as they both drank. Zach noticed how easy they both were with each other, the almost-touches and hopeful looks of an extremely new relationship. He didn’t think they were sleeping together, not yet. That would have brought a whole different level of intimacy. 

Not that it mattered to Zach, because it didn’t. 

“Daddy, I gotta pee, help me with the thing!” Teddy called out, running to his father from the pool. He had a look of frustration Zach knew well—the drawstring on his swimsuit was apparently knotted up beyond the ability of his small fingers to deal with. Chris set his beer down and bent over to try to extricate the poor kid. When that apparently didn’t work, Anne pitched in, kneeling down so she was on Teddy’s level and talking with him to calm him as her long, deft fingers worked at the knot. When she was successful, Teddy gave her a hug, which she didn’t seem to mind even though he was soaking wet from the pool, folding him in her arms and holding him close. 

Zach felt a pang as he watched; there was no doubt about it—they looked like a family. Something deep inside him responded to the sight, something visceral. You didn’t have to be a psychologist to guess why; Zach’s loss of his father when he was so young had forever deprived him of that perfect, idyllic nuclear family. 

And here it was before him. 

That Anne resembled Desi was no small coincidence, Zach thought. She was taller and her hair was a different texture, but he had seen photos of her and Chris together, and there was no denying a resemblance. And here she was hugging Teddy, listening to him talk and laughing at what he had to say, and not minding a bit that he’d just gotten her dress soaking wet. What they said, Zach couldn’t hear from where he was, but Anne’s face was radiant as she said one last thing, and Teddy ran into the house with the urgency only a child with a small bladder could have.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Katie said as she came up behind him.

“My thoughts don’t come that cheap.”

“Then how’s this?” she asked, plunking a cold bottle of beer down onto the table and taking the seat next to him, straddling the bench.

“Hope you don’t want change,” he said, taking a sip. 

“You know, if you start to look any more tragic, a violin soloist is going to have to start following you around,” Katie said.

“Shut up.” He pushed at her shoulder gently and she pushed him back, so naturally a playful slap fight arose. “You know, you’re pretty cool _for a girl_ ,” he said with a laugh.

“Don’t you forget it!”

Across the yard, Chris was laughing at something Anne said, then pushing a strand of her hair out of her face. Zach looked down at his beer label, suddenly interested in its ABV number.

“For what it’s worth, I think he liked you more,” Katie said quietly.

“Yeah, well I screwed that up pretty completely.”

“Yep.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Hey, I’m not getting involved. I’m just saying a person doesn’t completely get over those kinds of intense feelings for another person that quickly.”

“Intense feelings, huh?”

“I said I’m not getting involved,” she reminded him and waggled the famous Pine eyebrows. 

Zach went back to staring at his beer.

\----

Before long, the food was finally ready and Zach found himself in line at the buffet behind Anne. 

“I haven’t had an actual burger in what feels like months,” he said by way of small talk. He grabbed one with cheese and loaded it up with toppings, then dished himself some potato salad and an ear of corn. 

“Oh, corn,” she said longingly. “Do you suppose it’s any good? I so miss the stuff from back home.”

“It’s all right,” Zach said. “Where’s home?”

“Millburn, New Jersey,” she said with a wry grin.

“Ah, the Garden State!” Zach said.

“And don’t you forget it. Seriously, Jersey corn is the best.” She took an ear of corn and regarded it with a jaundiced eye, as if daring it to disappoint her, then put it on her plate.

Once they got through the line, they found an empty table and sat down together to eat. “How’s the corn?” he asked.

“Acceptable,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “How’s the burger?”

“More than acceptable. There’s just something so satisfying about something cooked over an open flame, you know?”

“Some caveman-ish instinct, sitting long-dormant? I get it. My dad won’t let anyone near his barbecue. And it’s got to be a barbecue, mind you, with charcoal and enough lighter fluid to burn the house down. None of that propane nonsense.”

Zach smiled; Joe was the same way.

“Hey!” They both looked up at a greeting from Chris, who set a plate piled high with food beside Anne and sat himself down. “Enjoying the party? Sorry I haven’t been able to hang out yet—Teddy’s just so excited—there are presents.”

“Don’t worry about us, we can fend for ourselves,” Anne said. 

“We’ve been discussing grilling and corn.” Zach said.

“Worthy topics if ever I heard them.” Chris picked up his own burger and took a satisfied bite. “Mmm, charred meat—gooood!” He had a smear of ketchup on his lip that Zach found distracting.

They ate and made small talk, and Zach was pleasantly distracted; it was a good time. “So how goes filming?” he asked at length.

“Really well!” Anne said happily. “The set’s so much fun, we’re so lucky. And we’re filming on the backlot next week! It’s going to be so cool—like walking through one of those little villages people put up around their Christmas trees? Only life-size. I can’t wait.” She turned to Chris. “Have you been down there yet?”

“No, I didn’t think it was allowed.”

Anne looked at Zach and pointed at Chris with her thumb. “This one! Is he always such a goody two-shoes?”

Zach didn’t have to think for very long before pronouncing, “Yes.”

“I am not!” Chris protested. “They have signs up all over the place not to go in there unless you’re supposed to be!”

Anne held a hand up and mouthed, “Goody two-shoes” behind it. Zach snorted into his potato salad.

“So what’s going on with you?” Chris said to him. “Hear from Fox yet?”

Zach closed his eyes, thinking of Sam and the pitiful waste that was his career. Was no news good news? He didn’t think so. “I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”

“What? No! Why not?”

“I dunno, it’s been so long and I heard they started filming the first episode already. The jig is up.”

“What did your agent say?”

“Nothing, yet. I think he’s waiting until after the holiday maybe.” He took another swig of beer. “I’m beginning to think Hollywood isn’t the town for me. I've had a few bit parts here and there but let's face it,” Zach pointed at himself, “this is not the face of a leading man. This is a face for theater. I’m thinking I might just move to New York and try that out for a while.”

“What? No, man, don’t do that, not until you’ve exhausted every avenue here,” Chris said, and suddenly his hand was on Zach’s wrist, grasping it lightly. Zach was sure it was an unthinking gesture to make his point, but nearly all he could focus on was the contact. “You’re one of the best actors I’ve met, Zach. Don’t give up, not yet.”

Zach cleared his throat. “I've been thinking about it for a while now. You know my friend Matt? He's moving out here so I can sublet his place in Williamsburg. And my agency's got a really strong New York office so...” His voice trailed off as he saw the look on Chris's face. He stared at Zach so intently, the corners of his eyes turning down, clearly upset. Zach nearly wavered. 

“I suppose you know what's best for you,” Chris said after a long moment. 

“Yeah.” Zach looked away, nodding as if the physical act of affirmation would make it true. “Yeah.”

\----

As the sun began to set, Gwynne appeared from inside the house, bearing a huge, dinosaur-shaped birthday cake with a giant number four candle set into its back. Teddy and the rest of the family gathered around happily—Katie with a tub of ice cream to go with the cake, Bob with a video camera. As they all sang Happy Birthday, Chris crouched down behind his son and slid an arm around him, singing as enthusiastically as anyone there.

“Look at that, it’s a regular Kodak moment,” Joe said, sidling up behind Zach.

“They’re the perfect family, aren’t they?” Zach observed as Chris and everyone else applauded the successful blowing-out of the candles.

“Is there such a thing?”

Zach watched Teddy stick his finger into the frosting of the cake and feed it to Chris and thought that yeah, there definitely was.

\----

It was finally dark, the fireworks were just beginning, and it was time for the bonfire to be lit. Joe, who had apparently completely bonded with Bob, was allowed to help with lighting it, and soon there was a merry fire going. 

After a while, everyone there was either drinking and talking around the fire or else oohing and aahing over the fireworks. It was great, and he was glad to be out among people, but Zach felt a pang of lonelinesstoo. Around him, couples were paired off, laughing and whispering and sharing intimacies; moms and dads and their kids roasted marshmallows and made s’mores. He wondered if he would ever be like them. If he’d been asked about it six months ago, he’d have laughed out loud and jammed his tongue down the throat of whatever little twink was coming on to him at the bar. But now? Now he wanted so much more. 

“Maturity sucks,” he pronounced, lifting his beer bottle. When he tried to take a sip he realized it was empty, so he got up to go for another.

On his way across the lawn, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hello?”

“Zachary! Kid, I got great news for ya!”

“Marvin?” His agent sounded more excitable than usual, which was promising.

“Hope you’re not busy next week, or for the rest of the year, because you will be the newest member of the cast of Fox’s 24!”

Zach pulled the phone away from his ear and made sure the number that had called him had not been some stranger. “What? Really?” He felt warm all over, suddenly, dizzy and light.

“You know it! I’ll have the paperwork Monday, stop by when you can.”

“Oh my God, Marvin, this is terrific. Thank you. Thank you!”

Zach laughed out loud as he hung up, the happiness—and relief—he felt refusing to be contained. It was official. After years of bit parts and uncredited walk-ons, he had finally booked a series. _Finally!_

“I have to tell Chris,” was the first thing he said. 

He looked around for his friend but did not see him, then went over by the pool where some guests had congregated, sitting in chaises, talking and laughing. Someone had found a portable stereo and a few people were slow-dancing to Sinatra. Chris wasn't among them. 

Zach walked back down to the bottom of the yard, where the bonfire had died down some. This time, he wasn’t quite so affected by the people being paired off; this time, he felt as happy as they all looked. It was glorious, he thought, and fit his mood perfectly. 

He really needed to talk to Chris.

He spotted Anne first, but she was talking animatedly with Bob and no one else. Gwynne was nearby as well, sitting on a lawn chair with some of the women Zach knew were neighbors. No sign of Chris. He decided to head up to the house.

He ran into Joe and Katie, kissing under the lamplight on the deck. “Why don't you two get a room?” he asked with exactly no animus.

“Not a bad idea,” Katie said. 

“Have you seen Chris?” 

She nodded. “I saw him a while ago, he was going to put Teddy to bed.” 

“Where?”

“His old room—second door on the left when you get up the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

Chris's boyhood bedroom, like much of the Pine home, had been converted into a space that accommodated the interests of the couple's only grandchild. It was painted in bright colors, with a wallpaper border depicting a cheerful parade of cartoon dinosaurs. Zach recalled that Teddy had spent his first years here while Chris finished college. 

When Zach walked in, the first thing he saw was Teddy lying in the bed, clearly already asleep, the ever-present dinosaur Hrothgar clutched in one arm. Zach smiled and crossed the room, pulling the sheets up to cover the boy’s exposed arms. He turned to leave and stopped, startled, when he realized there was a third person in the room. Chris sat in an old, bent-wood rocking chair that sat beside the door, a bed pillow clutched to his belly. 

“There you are,” Zach whispered cheerfully, “I was looking for you.” Before he could say anything more, he saw in the dim light from a nearby lamp that there were tears streaming down Chris's face. His elation turned immediately to dismay. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Chris shook his head and licked his lips. 

“Chris, come on, you’re scaring me.”

Chris sighed. “I try not to let it bother me, but today’s always hard, you know?”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He knelt down beside the chair and stared up at Chris, waiting to see if there was anything he needed.

“I see her in his eyes sometimes and I owe her...”

“Everything?” Zach asked. 

“I used to think so, but no. She's gone and it’s time I moved on, right?” 

“Are you? Moving on?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Katie says I wear my grief like a hairshirt. I didn’t think I was that bad, but she’s right.” 

“Wouldn't Desi want you to move on though?”

“She'd say Teddy deserved a happy father.” 

Zach reached out to lay a hand over Chris’s where he clutched at the pillow. “She'd be right.” Chris sighed, mumbled something unintelligible. “What?”

“She left me.” New tears fell from his eyes. “I loved her with all my heart and it wasn’t enough. She was going to leave.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Chris.”

Chris looked down at Zach, the low angle of the nightlight lending his eyes a kind of luminosity that was haunting. “I never told anybody this. The night before she died, Desi broke up with me,” he said thickly. “I gave her a ring and I asked her to marry me, and she said no.”

“Chris—“

“She said we were too young to get married, that we would only grow to hate each other like her parents did. She said she couldn’t do that to us, or to our child. And then she was gone, and I have never forgiven her for hurting me, for leaving us. Oh, God, Zach!” He wilted in front of Zach, doubling over as if in pain.

Zach moved closer, catching him and holding on, letting him sob quietly into his shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris realizes a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to semper-ama for some snappy story help and beta-ing this chapter.

Chris clung to Zach like a drowning man. 

Every year he went through something like this, some wave of grief over Desi’s loss, followed by the inevitable guilt over its being so self-indulgent. But this year was worse. This year he'd had success both career-wise and personally, had caught a glimpse of what happiness might look like, and it scared him. 

He had rarely in his life seriously considered what that meant for him, at least not beyond a childhood belief that everyone got a happily ever after. Even when he had, it had been Desi he'd imagined by his side. He had always known they had something special. Even when she'd broken his heart, he knew they'd wind up together eventually. 

Desi, budding astrophysicist that she was, had taught him about the universal constant, the representation of the unshakable force of gravity between two objects, an attraction enforced by physics and inescapable. Early on in their relationship, she’d used it to describe the two of them, and he had loved it, had thought the notion unbelievably romantic. And it was that idea—that and his grief—that had kept him from ever really trying to date anyone else. He’d had his One True Love, hadn’t he? He was too busy to try again. Or too damaged. Or too something.

But today he realized he could imagine a life without Desi in it, today he recognized how much his grief was holding him back. Today, when faced with the real prospect of losing him, he realized he was in love with Zach. 

Coming to this understanding ought to have made him happy or at least less confused, but as he lay an already-sleeping Teddy into the bed, all he felt was an overwhelming wave of guilt washing over him. 

\----

 _“There you are,” Chris said, flicking the light on in his parents' study. Desi was sitting on the old leather couch with her feet propped, a glass of lemonade at her elbow. The last trimester of her pregnancy was hitting her hard, with all the attendant symptoms Chris had read about in_ What to Expect When You’re Expecting _, including heartburn, swollen ankles, and more. And the Southern California heat wasn't doing her any favors today. “You feeling ok?”_

_“I'm fine.” She rested a hand on her protruding belly. So's your spawn. He's kicking up a storm in here.”_

_“My mom says I was an active kid too.”_

_“I guess it means he’s healthy.”_

_Chris sat beside her on the couch, sliding closer to fit in beside her. He kissed her cheek as he entwined his arms and legs around hers, admiring the way her limbs seemed to fit so well against his. Everything about her was long and graceful, her hands, feet, legs—her bone structure as delicate as a bird’s. He laid his head on her shoulder and kissed her lightly on her earlobe._

_“How'd building the big bonfire go?” she asked. Outside the window, dusk was rapidly turning to dark, and Chris could hear his parents out there, arguing over table placement._

_“About as you'd expect. Bob's a lot more anal about these things than you'd think.”_

_“Well sure, there are untold generations of Pine men and their bonfire-building prowess to respect, young man,” Desi said in an amazingly on-point impression of Chris's dad._

_Chris laughed. “I can't believe you're missing it this year. The parentals are very sore indeed.”_

_“If they want to, they can go to great aunt Angeliki’s 100th birthday party instead of me! Then I can hang here with you and Katie and eat hotdogs ‘til I puke like I wanted to!”_

_He threaded the fingers of his left hand with hers and made sympathetic noises. “Hey, where's your class ring? You never take that thing off.”_

_She sighed. “It doesn't fit anymore. That's another glamorous part of pregnancy they neglect to mention, that even your fingers get fat! I cannot wait for this boy to be out of me Chris. It's wreaking havoc on my fashion expression.”_

_Chris snorted. While he loved the way she dressed, her tendency to wear vintage men's sweaters as dresses with ripped tights and combat boots was not exactly the height of fashion. Her style could at best be described as quirky, at worst bizarre._

_“Maybe this'll fit you better,” he said. Reaching into the pocket of his cargo shorts he pulled out a small velvet box and balanced it atop her belly._

_He wasn't sure if he enjoyed the silence that followed._

_“Christopher, what have you done?” she asked slowly._

_“Open it,” he said, unable to keep the wide grin off his face._

_“No.”_

_“What?”_

_“I don't want to open it.”_

_Expecting she wanted more drama from this moment, he took the box back and slid off the couch, getting on one knee. The ring, a 3-carat topaz, belonged to his Grandmother Gilford, and while it wasn't strictly an engagement ring, it_ was _a solitaire. Its color matched the gold flecks in Desi's eyes perfectly. His nana had been thrilled to let Chris have it; she was very fond of Desi and proud as punch to be made a great grandmother. Chris knew Desi would love it—she had often said diamonds were overrated, and she didn't like them. She'd gone so far as to sell the diamond earrings an aunt had gotten her for her Sweet 16 to buy a new telescope._

_“Desi,” Chris said, unable to wipe the smile off his face. He opened the box with a flourish and cleared his throat. “Desi, I wanted to do this in a more romantic place, like a fancy restaurant or a horse-drawn carriage, but we're kind of running out of time here, and besides I know you'd yell at me for wasting my money. But you see, I couldn't even wait for that. Once your dad said yes, and Nana gave me this, I couldn't wait.”_

_He looked up at her, stared deeply into her eyes, and nearly lost his ability to speak. She was so beautiful, and he didn't think it possible to love anyone this much. He thought his heart might burst; instead it settled for lodging itself in his throat._

_He swallowed. “Despina Aphrodite Theodora Georgiou, you make me happier than any guy has a right to be. Please, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”_

_Her eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing._

_“Des?”_

_She raised her hand, reaching for him, so he leaned forward. Her hand closed around his fingers and the ring box he held, and squeezed, the pressure she exerted closing it. “Chris, I love you,” she began; her words made Chris’s heart race and he smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. “But I won’t marry you.”_

_He wasn’t sure he heard her properly. “What? Come on.”_

_“No, Chris. My answer is no.”_

_He recoiled from her, as if struck, falling back on his ass on his parent’s Turkish rug. “But—why?“_

_“I think you know why. We discussed this when I first got pregnant. We’re too young to get married.”_

_“Too young to get married, but not to have a baby?”_

_“We’re too young to have a baby too, but we’re choosing to live with that mistake.”_

_“Mistake? Desi, you think it was a mistake?”_

_“Of course I do, Chris, and so should you. It doesn’t mean I won’t love him, just like me saying no to your proposal doesn’t mean I don’t love you too. But I mean, objectively, empirically, and statistically speaking, we are too young and immature to deal with these kinds of life-changing decisions. Don’t you agree?”_

_“No, I don’t agree. Desi, when I think about the future, it’s impossible to imagine it without you there. Literally every plan I have for my life involves—no they_ revolve _around you. When I’m graduating, when I’m on stage with the theater club—hell, sometimes I even imagine I’m a famous actor and I’m on stage at the Oscars—you’re always there.” He was crying now, they both were, and when she leaned forward to reach for him, he scooted back on the carpet. “And when our son is born, I see us raising him together, Desi—are you telling me you don’t see the same things?”_

_She let her hand fall, dangling loosely from her elbow as she seemed to deflate. “I’m saying I don’t know. And I’m saying I don’t want to decide my whole future now. Dammit, Chris, we’re 19 years old, we’re barely adults. I might not be the same person in five years, and neither will you.”_

_He stood up, not believing what he was hearing. “I know I’ll still be in love with you.”_

_“Do you? Do you really think so?”_

_“You don’t?” he asked in a hushed voice._

_“I hope so, but I don’t want to limit my options. Chris, I want to build space stations and launch rockets, not squabble over whose turn it is to go grocery shopping or drive the flippin’ carpool!”_

_“You’re turning me down over_ chores _?”_

_“Please, Chris, this is hard enough!”_

_“_ ON WHO?! _” he shouted, standing over her with his hands clenched into fists at his sides._

_She flinched. “I don’t want to wake up one morning and resent you or our child for all the things I didn’t get to do with my life, Chris,” she said, her voice as quiet as a whisper. “I don’t want us to end up like my parents.”_

_“Now is not the time to be having this conversation. Next thing you’ll be saying you don’t want to keep our child.”_

_She stared at the carpet, crying hard, but she did not refute him._

_“Des, that’s not what you’re saying, is it?”_

_She shook her head, but he wasn’t sure what she was denying anymore._

_“Is it?”_

_“Yes? No? I don’t know!” she replied, hugging herself as she addressed the floor._

_He reeled away from her, retreating over to the fireplace along the far wall, as if it afforded him some sort of protection. His knees were shaking suddenly, and he had to hold onto it for support. “I guess that’s the difference between us, because I do.”_

_They stayed in those positions for long minutes, crying and not looking at each other. “How long have you felt this way about the baby?” he asked her quietly._

_“I don’t know, maybe always?”_

_He didn’t think she could possibly hurt him more, but he was wrong. He recoiled, speechless._

_She got up and looked at him, tears staining her face, her eyes red and puffy. “I’m sorry Chris. I think it’s probably a good idea if we avoid seeing each other for a while.”_

_A hundred different things crossed his mind, things he could say to her, things he could do, but he knew none of them would be enough, not at that moment._

_“I’m sorry, Chris,” she repeated, and then she was gone._

\----

Desi had left and Chris never saw or spoke to her again—she died less than 24 hours later. She refused his calls, told her mother to tell him they should stay apart for a while, at least until the baby came. But even then he knew he could win her back, _he knew it_ , had spent the entire next day strategizing it.

But he never saw her again, and the memory of that night would forever haunt him. 

From time to time, in his darkest hours, he’d replay their last conversation and give in to an upwelling of grief and loss that felt like it could consume him if he let it. It was self-destructive, and, he realized as he sank to his knees and into Zach’s arms, that he would never give in to it again. 

What he’d said to Zach was right—Desi _would_ want him to be happy. If she caught him feeling this sorry for himself, she’d have kicked his ass. There was no doubt in his mind he and Desi would have beaten the odds and been happy forever, but that hadn’t happened. He’d been so close to the prize, and he’d lost it, but he had a beautiful son, and friends and a family who loved him. And he knew now he could love someone again.

Meeting Zach earlier in the year had turned out to be one of the best things to happen to him. Not only had their brief fling made him feel attractive to someone, but for the first time since Teddy's birth he felt like he deserved it. On top of that, being exposed to the guys at the Corp had made him a better actor, helped him hone his craft to the point where he was able to land a role in a big movie. And while Zach had said rash and hurtful things, his actions since had shown Chris all he needed to know about him. He was a good friend and supporter and all Chris could have asked for in a partner—and he clearly doted on Teddy. 

Chris knew Zach held feelings for him long after they'd broken things off—he wasn't completely blind—but now he was going to leave for New York. Just as Chris realized how much he meant to him, Zach was making plans to leave.

The thought made Chris cling to Zach tighter. 

“Hey, shh, it's going to be all right,” Zach said, misinterpreting. He held Chris's head cradled against his shoulder, his hand lightly resting on the back of Chris’s neck. He traced small circles on Chris's back with the fingers of his other hand; it was all oddly soothing. 

Chris brought his hands up, palms on Zach's chest, and pushed off. Zach still held on, hands gripping Chris's biceps lightly. “Feel better?”

Chris couldn't take his eyes off Zach's lips as he spoke. 

“You shouldn't keep stuff all bottled up inside,” Zach went on. “That's what my mom always said, but she never got shoved into a locker by a basketball player, you know what I'm saying?” He chuckled for a moment, but something in Chris’s face made him stop. “What? What is it?”

Chris closed the distance between them in a rush, the kiss going a bit wide ("Aw, you shanked it, Chrissy!" he could hear Katie’s voice chiding him in his head), but he quickly recovered. Zach's lips were warm like he remembered, and he tasted like toasted marshmallows and beer. 

He pushed Chris away. “Hey, hey, oh hey now,” he said, his grip on Chris's arms now firming up as he held him off. Chris made some sort of protesting sound—he was incapable of speaking at that point—but Zach shook him a little. “Come on, you're upset, don't do that,” he said quietly. 

“Zach—“

“No, shh, you're emotional and not really thinking, all right?” He couldn't look at Chris all of a sudden, seemed very conscious of how close their bodies were. Clearing his throat, he pulled away, got carefully to his feet, and held a hand out to Chris. “Come on.”

Chris took it and let Zach pull him to his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered, dashing the tears from his face with both hands. “I'm really sorry you had to see that.” 

“I'm not, buddy,” he said simply, and reached for the doorknob.

Chris glanced back over to Teddy's bed; the boy had thankfully slept through Chris's breakdown. When he looked back, Zach was already in the hallway, and he followed him down the stairs and out of the house. 

\----

They wandered down past the pool toward the bonfire. Chris felt drained, and Zach seemed to pick up on it, keeping a respectful distance between them. Chris didn't blame him—having someone cry their eyes out all over your shirt was not the most comfortable situation; Zach's shirt was dotted with tear stains.

“There you are, Chris.”

“Oh hey,” he greeted Anne.

She smiled as she took his wrist and shook his arm. “Where'd you get to? I was beginning to think you'd ditched me.”

“Inside,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Putting Teddy to bed. He was out like a light. Big day.”

“Aww.”

“Is everything ok?”

She nodded. “I was hanging out with your dad. He's got some interesting stories from the 70s.” 

“Oh yeah,” Chris said, laughing. “I’m surprised you were able to get away. Did he name any names?”

“No.”

“Damn it, he never does. It would be a million times better if he did. Did he tell you the one about the guy in the makeup trailer with the dildo? I’m pretty sure that was Burt Reynolds.”

Anne laughed heartily. “Shut up! I can’t believe the makeup artist tried to pass it off as a prosthetic!”

“I am clearly hanging out with the wrong Pines,” Zach said with a laugh. “But look, I'm going to go find my brother.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder with his thumb. 

Chris noticed he'd been backing farther away from them the closer Anne physically got to Chris. He sighed inwardly. “OK man, cool. Uh, listen… about before.” Chris looked down and shuffled his feet. “Thanks.” He peered up at Zach. “A lot.” 

Zach smiled, the light from the paper lanterns strung overhead reflected in his eyes, and making them twinkle. “Sure thing, man.” He turned and walked away, back toward the bonfire. 

“What was that all about?” Anne asked. 

Chris watched Zach go until the darkness swallowed him. “Nothing, he just... was being a good friend.”

“Oh yeah? How good?” she asked archly. She had almost no expression on her face, and one eyebrow raised. 

“Uhhh...” He massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, listen... about that.”

“You want to get back with Zach, and even though I am a great gal and probably the best kisser you've ever met, there's just no way you're ever going to be good enough for me?” 

His eyes widened in surprise. “Anne—“

She raised her chin and spoke in a rush, “Listen, don't sweat it, sweetie, win some, lose some, right?”

“No, come on—“

They looked at each other for several measured seconds, then Anne spoke said, “Look, I'm covered, OK? At least you figured it out before I got really attached to you. I’m emotional Teflon, remember?” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him; when he laid his hands on her back, he noticed she was trembling. 

“Oh, Annie.” He held her close, burying his face in her neck. She smelled so good. “I'm sorry it went this way, I really like you.” 

She pulled away, but kept hold of his hand. “But you _love_ him, don't think I haven't noticed. I was actually wondering when _you_ would. I guess it was tonight huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“Does he know?”

“No, not yet.” 

“The way he looks at you, it'll be good news, trust me.” 

“You think? I can’t be sure with him sometimes, you know, he’s kind of mercurial.”

“Listen, I'm not going to help you figure this out. That's up to you.”

“Sorry.”

She stepped back, dropping his hand. “This is the part where I walk away slowly and you watch with a mounting sense of regret.”

“Oh. OK.” 

She got up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Take care, Chris. I'll see you Monday, yeah?”

He smiled at her gratefully. “Yeah.”

She turned and walked away, her hips swaying sensually. He wished things had gone a lot differently. 

“You regretting it yet?” she called over her shoulder, a smile quirking her mouth.

“Bitterly!” he called after her with a laugh and a wave. But he did watch her go, all the way into the house. 

\----

After Anne left, Chris found himself at the bonfire, hoping to find Zach there. The flames had burned down to dark red embers with the occasional yellow-blue flame licking out. He was staring at it for a moment when he heard someone call out to him, “Hey, down in front!”

He turned and smiled at his cousin Frannie, who sat on the grass on an old Mexican blanket, her legs splayed out in front of her. “Hey,” he greeted her warmly, walking over. “This seat taken?”

“Knock yourself out,” she said, making room for him as he got down on the ground. Frannie was by far his favorite relation outside his immediate family, not least of which was because she gave him lots of good parenting advice. Her own son, Trevor, was eight now, and often let Teddy hang with him and his friends whenever they were over. “So Auntie Gwynne tells me you're going to be in a big movie?” She leaned over and bumped his shoulder with hers. “I'm so proud of you!”

“Yeah... yeah. It's over at Disney. Garry Marshall's the director.”

Frannie made an impressed face. “Not too shabby, cuz! So what, are you playing, like, Prince Charming or something?”

Chris laughed and felt his cheeks flush. “Kind of.”

“No! I was just kidding.” She squeezed his cheeks with one hand. “Aw, Chrissy, I knew you weren't this pretty for nothing!”

“Ow! Quit it!” he said, squirming away, but secretly he was pleased. 

“So is that where you found that girl?” Frannie asked, giving him the side-eye. “She some extra you're taking advantage of?”

“Anne? She's actually the star of the film.”

“Well done you, then.”

“No, it's not like that. She's just a friend. Now.”

“There's a story there.” 

“There's a story where?” a third person asked.

Frannie's partner Lisa arrived handed her a glass of sangria and sat down beside them with a bottle of water for herself. 

“About how Chrissy's not banging his co-star,” Frannie told her.

Lisa pulled a face. “That girl you were with? I know I would if I was you, she's cute.”

“She is,” Chris agreed, “but there's someone else. Someone I need to talk to about it, actually, but I can't find him.”

“Him?” Frannie and Lisa exchanged looks. 

“Oh, by the way, I'm bisexual,” Chris said casually and ducked his head as his cheeks flamed once more. Boy, he was coming out to people left and right lately.

“I knew it!” Frannie said, and when Lisa gaped at her, she went on, “You know, in the sense that I had absolutely no idea. Congratulations.”

“On my sexuality?”

“No, on being in love. It's the best thing ever.” Frannie took Lisa's hand and kissed the back of it.

“The actual best,” Lisa agreed, laying her head on Frannie's shoulder with a happy smile. 

“It will be, if we can just get our shit together. Now if you lovely ladies will excuse me, I'm going to go try to track him down.” 

“He's here? Chris, you've been holding out!” Frannie exclaimed.

“Which one is he? Not that walking pillow mint I saw with Bob earlier?” Lisa asked. 

Chris laughed. “No, but that is his brother.”

“Tell me yours has a better fashion sense!”

“He seems to favor stripey t-shirts.”

“Oh, so bad fashion is apparently genetic. Fix him, Christopher, fix him!”

Chris got up and kissed them both on the heads. “Nah, I think he's pretty perfect as he is.”

\----

The party had begun to thin out as Chris made his way back to the house. “Have you seen Zach?” he asked his sister as he wandered into the kitchen. She was alone, packing the rest of the birthday cake away and snacking on the crumbs as she went. 

“He left with Joe, said he was tired.” 

“Oh. Damn.” He took a seat at the breakfast bar, sprawling across the bench seat and looking disconsolate.

“Why the long face?”

“He told me he was moving to New York and I’m a little bummed out.”

“And…?” she said expectantly, waggling her eyebrows when he didn't elaborate.

“I had something to discuss with him,” Chris said, enunciating the words very slowly and carefully. His sister’s desire to meddle in his life was legendary, and while he’d easily shared this information easily with Anne and Frannie, he wasn’t above making his sister earn it.

“Oh? Does it have anything to do with the fact he’s madly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you and has been suffering for it for months? Or that you need to be hit by a clue-by-four that you feel the same way about him?”

Chris sat up, blinking hard. “What?” Had he been that obvious?

“You know, you could do a lot worse than wind up with a guy like him, Christopher. He's handsome, and he's kind, and super good with Teddy. Just last week he watched him when Mom had to take Nana to her herbologist, and I couldn't get away from work.”

“Herbologist? Our grandmother needs a herbologist?” But he had heard that, and he had called to thank Zach, and left him a message. 

“And in case you haven't noticed, he's crazy about you. And pining away like a… a um...” She waved her hand in the air vaguely as Chris gave her an amused look. “You know, like a big pining thing! It's terrible, don't laugh.”

Chris schooled his face into a more serious expression. “I'm sorry to hear that, I was unaware pining was involved.” 

“He hides it well. He's a good guy, Chris. You should give him a chance, before Miss Thing gets too attached to you and you have to break her heart too.”

“I know. That's why I told Anne we were over, because I'm in love with Zach.” It felt suddenly strange to say it out loud, so he repeated it, to get used to it. “I am in love with Zach.”

“Well, it’s about time you said it!” she said, clearly unwilling to let her exasperation go. Then she smiled, and her eyes shone. “Aww, you’re in love with Zach!”

They grinned at each other like idiots until something else occurred to Chris: how was he going to tell Teddy?

\----

Despite being up well past midnight helping his parents clean up after the party and then arguing with his mother until he agreed to spend the night, Chris rose early the next day, though not earlier than his son. As he fumbled through making a pot of coffee, he heard a movement behind him and looked down when a small hand pulled at the leg of the sweatpants he wore. 

“Daddy, will you help me with this Batman, he's stuck.” He held out a boxed toy that had been a birthday present the day before, a 12-inch Batman action figure (“With New Active Grip!”). 

“Sure, give it here.” The thing was encased in a clear plastic box which had been sealed with a kind of thick, also clear, packing tape. He tried picking it off with a thumbnail but it was way too sticky. “I'm going to have to get a pair of scissors,” he murmured, crossing the kitchen to the utility drawer where his mother kept them. 

Teddy followed, standing so close Chris bumped into him as he bent forward to search for the scissors. “Sorry buddy,” he said, lifting the boy and setting him on the counter, out of the way, “won’t be a moment.” 

The scissors were nowhere to be found, however he spotted his mother’s knife block nearby and extracted a tiny paring knife, which sliced through the tape easily. Opening the tab on the box, he peered inside; the doll had been laid to rest inside a molded plastic tray inside, which Chris attempted to draw out. It had other ideas, however, as it was secured to the edges of the box by some until-now invisible to the naked eye plastic tabs. Tugging at it manically, he was finally able to free it, but the box looked like it had been through a thresher. Teddy frowned at the wreckage when Chris handed it to him.

“I’ll bet if they made planes out of this stuff there'd be less fatal crashes,” Chris joked, but Teddy was not amused.

Chris looked down at the doll in his hands, hoping that removing it from its clear plastic coffin would be less stressful, but alas it was not to be. Examining it closely, he saw there were upwards of a dozen small plastic rings anchoring the thing to its inner packaging. He thought, fleetingly, that if the Penguin ever really wanted to do Batman in, this might be the way: driven insane by means of a child’s toy packaging.

Sighing, he slid the tip of the paring knife inside one of the rings—the one securing Batman’s tiny, booted left ankle—but the plastic was too tough to be handled by the delicate blade. He pulled open the utility drawer once more and rooted around, finally coming up with the old Leatherman he'd gotten as a gift when he was 16. 

Teddy watched everything he did intently, small hands suspended in the air as if he wanted to intervene but didn’t know how. Chris needed to distract him before he got too fidgety—might as well discuss his own sex life, right? 

“Hey Teddy, I want to ask you something. Do you remember Simba and Nala in the Lion King?”

Teddy didn’t answer, as the furrow in his brow got deeper the closer Chris put the sharp blade of the Leatherman to Batman's cape for comfort.

“You know how they were friends?” Chris went on, pulling the tool away and watching his son relax. “I mean like _good friends_ , like boyfriend and girlfriend? You know what that is?”

“They went to the elephant graveyard.”

“That's right. But you know later, when they grew up, how they kind of _really liked each other_?”

Teddy laughed. “They rolled around in the grass. That's silly.”

“Yeah, well sometimes adults like to roll around in the grass.”

Teddy looked at him blankly.

“What I mean is, sometimes men and women are like Simba and Nala and they decide they only want to,” he flinched, “roll around with _each other_. Exclusively. 

“What would you say if your old dad wanted to do that? Only with, like, uh, Mr. Zach?” 

Teddy regarded him with large eyes for a moment during which Chris saw his life flash before his eyes. 

“I think you mean more like Timon and Pumbaa, daddy,” he said, only slightly condescendingly.

It was Chris's turn to stare.

“Auntie Katie told me how Timon and Pumbaa love each other, like mommies and daddies, only with boys. It's called gay.”

“Really?” 

Teddy gave him a patient look. “It’s their _Oreo-tation_ , Dad. It’s just how they are.” 

“Yes. I suppose it is,” Chris said, bemused.

Teddy reached for the toy, placing his little hands over Chris's, but Batman's torso was still secured to the tray. Chris pulled it back and went back to work on it. Teddy frowned, staring at what Chris was doing with mild dismay, clearly unconvinced it would be returned undamaged.

“So it wouldn’t bother you if me and Mr. Zach… were like Timon and Pumbaa? And maybe kissed sometimes?”

“Is Mr. Zach gay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

Chris thought more discussion of the spectrum of sexual orientations could probably wait until Teddy was older. “Let’s just say I’m half.”

Teddy’s face grew serious as he processed what Chris had just said; Chris held his breath. “I really like Mr. Zach, Daddy,” he finally pronounced. “You should invite him for a sleepover.”

Chris laughed. “Maybe I will. If he wants to.”

\----

“Zach, there’s something I want you to know.”

“Zach, I know we got off to a rocky start, but you should know…”

“Zach, you probably think I hate you, but really… No, that’s no good.”

Chris sat parked in his car in front of Joe’s condo, working on what he might say to Zach. He was gripping the wheel tightly to keep his hands from shaking. It wasn’t every day a person confessed to someone they were in love with them, but everything he could think to say was coming out sounding trite or rehearsed. It was getting frustrating. 

“Hey Zach, I hope you don’t mind, but I outed you to my kid. No, that’s stupid. Stupid!” 

“Chris?”

Chris jumped, his heart leaping into his throat; Zach stood on the curb, bent over to look through the car’s open window with a quizzical look on his face. Chris gaped up at him, mouth open and eyes squinting in the late morning sun. 

Zach held a large cardboard box in his hands with “LIVING ROOM” written on the side. The car Chris was parked behind, he now noticed, was Zach’s, and now he could see the trunk was popped open. Chris was so absorbed in his thoughts he had not noticed. 

“You loading up your car?” _Already_?

Zach looked down at the box. “It’s just a few things,” he said with a shrug. “Were you here looking for Katie? I haven’t seen her.”

“No, I’m here to see you, actually.”

“Me?” The smile on Zach’s face made his eyes seem like they’d been lit from within, and Chris wondered how he had overlooked how damn attractive it was. “Really? Well, let me just drop off this box.” He put it into the trunk and closed it, walking back over to Chris. “Did you want to come up?” he said.

“OK.”

He looked amused. “You have to get out of the car for that.”

“What? Oh! Oh yeah.” Chris pried his hands off the wheel and cut the engine, rolling up the windows before getting out.

“You have a good time yesterday?” Zach asked as he led the way to the front door.

“Yesterday?”

“At Teddy’s other birthday party? At Desi’s folks’ place?”

“Oh. Yeah, it was a good time. There was lamb.”

As usual, Teddy’s party at the Georgious was a huge deal, with a live band, face-painting, and an open-pit barbecue. If Chris’s dad’s approach to grilling was a science, Desi’s father Nick’s was complete art. He always turned out the most delicious slow-roasted lamb and Chris looked forward to it every year. 

“Teddy said there’d be clowns?”

“Ha-ha, yeah there were. That kid loves clowns. Guess he didn’t get the memo they’re supposed to be terrifying. He had a good time with all his cousins.” It was important to Chris that Teddy never lose his link to Desi’s family, and he took him over there as often as he could. They’d moved to Santa Barbara after Desi died, so their visits weren’t as often as Chris would have liked.

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s important to stay connected to family.” Chris remembered that Zach’s dad had died when he was little, and nodded in agreement. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Coffee?”

“Iced tea’s good.”

Zach led the way through to the kitchen, where he removed a pitcher from the fridge and filled a pair of glasses with ice. “So what brings you round? I didn’t even think you knew where I lived.”

“Oh, you know,” Chris said, scratching an imaginary itch on his nose as he took as seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Stuff and things.”

“Uh huh…” 

Zach handed him the tea and Chris downed half of it in one gulp. His eyes watered from the cold of it. Zach watched him, amused.

“So. You’re moving?” Chris asked, recalling the small pile of other boxes they had passed in the foyer on their way in.

“Not really—it’s a little premature to yet.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I need to sign the contract still.”

Chris deflated; of course Zach would have to make more arrangements with his friend Matt before moving; he was always pragmatic like that. But still, it wouldn’t be long now. “Oh,” he said disconsolately.

“And even then, I’ll want to save up a bit of money first, and maybe buy my own apartment. Joe said I could stay here as long as I need to.”

“Wait a minute, huh? I thought you were moving to New York?”

“Oh that? Nah, don’t need to now I’m on 24.”

Chris felt a rush of excitement. “24? Really?” 

“Didn’t Katie tell you? My agent called me Friday night—I’m going to be playing ‘Adam,’ a hipster nerd probably.”

“Zach, that’s… oh man, that’s amazing, congratulations!” Chris got up and hugged Zach before he knew what he was doing, holding him for a beat too long than was strictly polite, regretting it the moment he had to let go. Even then, he didn’t disengage completely, grasping onto Zach’s forearms and shaking them up and down. “Congratulations.”

Zach smiled happily, his hands squeezing Chris’s arms back. “I’m sorry you didn’t know, I really thought Katie would have told you.”

Chris’s happiness at this news buoyed him up. “I’m so stoked for you!” he said, pulling Zach in for another enthusiastic hug. 

“Oh, hey! There we go!” Zach exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Chris, letting him go, “It’s just so—“ He let his voice peter out, but he could not stop smiling. He took a step closer, halving the gap between them. Zach cocked his head to the side, clearly curious about Chris’s sudden burst of physicality, but not pulling away. His eyes were so expressive and deep, Chris thought he could gaze into them forever. He reached up and pushed the long bangs Zach favored out of his eyes. “It’s such _good news_.”

Chris shifted his hand to the side, cradling Zach’s head from behind as he stepped in and kissed him. Zach startled at first, and for a sick moment, Chris thought he was going to rebuff him. He pulled back, shocked by his own forwardness, an apology already on his lips. But Zach slung his arms around Chris’s neck and pulled him in closer, his tongue darting out to lick at Chris’s lower lip before taking it between his own. Their second kiss was longer and deeper, and they were both out of breath when they parted.

“What just happened?” Zach asked.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Uh, well, no, I don’t mind per se…”

“It’s just that… I’m in love with you and all, so…” Chris trailed off awkwardly, and stepped back.

“Really?” Zach said, the joy in his face nearly incandescent.

Chris gazed down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Or, you know, in a cooler way. But I had to sort a few things out. And a few people, actually. It was a whole process. So… yeah…”

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Please shut up and kiss me some more?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wee epilogue.

“No, no. Wait, wait!”

Zach froze. “Wait?” he panted, pushing up on his forearms to look down at Chris. He was a mess, sweaty and as red as a candy apple, the flush spread to his shoulders, throat, and chest in irregularly-shaped splotches. He lay on his back in the bed, one leg hiked over Zach's shoulder, the other lying out to the side, totally open. “Is something wrong? Am I going too hard?”

Chris, whose head was thrown back, exposing his throat to the biting kisses Zach loved to give when he was topping, shook his head. “No, I um... I'm gonna come,” he gasped. 

“Oh?” _Already?_

Chris adjusted his head so he could look at Zach. His blue eyes were glazed, out of focus, his lips kiss-swollen. “I want to wait for you.” It was almost a whine. 

Zach smiled, indulgent. “You sure you don't want me to fuck you through it, baby?” he coaxed. He ran his left hand down the back of Chris's thigh encouragingly, nipped him just beneath his ear. “Remember last time?

Chris shivered beneath him. “I think i passed out that last time.” 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

Chris wrapped his arms around Zach's neck. “Do it, baby,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Make me forget my name.” He moaned as Zach snapped his hips forward, his head falling back onto the bed once more. 

Zach drove into him again and again, watching Chris’s reactions closely and tailoring his pace and the force of his thrusts to wring the most delicious reactions out of Chris. One of the many things Zach loved about him was how responsive he was to Zach’s lovemaking, and tonight was no different. His dick had leaked a veritable stream of pre-cum onto his belly, the pearlescent fluid running off his body to soak into the sheets beneath him. Zach loved the sight of Chris’s dick lolling around in the mess. He glanced up and saw Chris’s jaw and throat working, but no sound came from his lips.

Slowing his pace, Zach leaned forward over Chris’ body, penetrating him as deep as he could get as he strained to hear what he was saying. “What is it, baby?”

“Zach,” Chris sighed, his voice barely audible, his tone as reverent as a penitent as he came untouched, his dick spilled everything it had across his belly and chest. “Zaaaaaach!”

Hearing his name said this way was all Zach needed. With one, final thrust, he came inside Chris too, the tight heat of Chris’s clenching hole milking him dry.

They collapsed together over each other, Chris making small sounds of loss as Zach pulled out. Zach pulled Chris to him and held him protectively, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his bare shoulder. He wondered—not for the first time and certainly not the last—how he could have gotten so lucky. Some days, it felt like his entire life had been adding up to being in this exact place. He counted himself beyond fortunate to have Chris and Teddy in his life, and thoughts of his life without them in it were so inconceivable. it choked him up to even consider it. Unconsciously, he pulled Chris closer, ignoring the sweat on their bodies and the warmth in the room to revel in their closeness.

Chris made a soft, sleepy sound, gripping Zach tighter reflexively. Zach smiled indulgently and let himself fall asleep too.

\----

_BEEP BEEP BEEP_

Zach flailed a little as the alarm he’d set on his phone went off, dislodging Chris from his chest. “Sorry,” he mumbled at Chris’s noise of protest and turned over, fumbling on the bedside table to find the device and shut it off. 

“Come on, time to get up and get ready,” Zach said, pushing at the middle of Chris’s back and rocking him in the bed. “We don’t want to be late to the premiere.”

“What time is it?”

“3:15?”

Chris sat bolt upright in bed. “What?”

“I said it’s 3:15.”

“Holy shit!” Chris nearly yelled, pushing the duvet off of himself and jumping form the bed. “We’re gonna be late.”

“No we’re not, the publicist said we didn't need to be there until 6:00.”

Chris looked at him like he was high or something. “Yeah, and we still have to shower, get dressed—and you _know_ how long it takes you to do your hair—and still get to my mom’s to pick up Teddy. And you know how bad traffic’ll be getting all the way to Pasadena and then back? Why are you laughing, this is _not_ funny!!”

Zach tried to school his expression into something more serious, but Chris was unbelievably adorable when panicked. “Relax, babe, it’s taken care of. Your parents are bringing Teddy along with them, so we don’t have to.”

Chris dropped his hands, his urgency leaving him as suddenly as it had materialized. “Oh. Really? Thanks!” He smiled. “You think of everything.”

Zach cocked his head to the side and lowered the timbre of his voice in a manner he liked more than he’d readily admit. “A Vulcan officer is always prepared, Captain. It makes up for certain… deficits in human commanders.”

Chris grinned. “Indeed, Mr. Spock? And what deficits might you be striving to compensate for in this case?”

As much as he wanted to, Zach couldn’t keep a straight face. He looked Chris’s naked body up and down with an exaggerated leer. “From here? Nothing whatsoever.”

Smirking, Chris leaned back over the bed and kissed him. “Good answer, Commander.”

**xXxXxXxXx**

“Teddy! Come and have a look, bub, the car’s here!”

“Coming, Pop-Pop!”

Teddy finished tying his shoe and ran out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front hall. Ducking under his grandfather’s arm, he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the limo that had been sent by Paramount to pick them all up. This was Teddy's first movie premiere, and he could hardly believe he was being allowed to go—one of the perks (FINALLY!) of being the son of an actor.

“Wow, is that whole car just for us?” he breathed. The car was huge, taking up nearly the entire length of the driveway.

“It’s got to fit you, me, and Mom-Mom, plus Katie and Joe.”

“It’s bigger than the one for Aunt Katie and Uncle Joe’s wedding!”

Bob Pine laughed. “Let’s just say the studio’s budget is a bit larger than your old Pop-Pop’s, and leave it at that, eh?”

Teddy turned around and ran to the kitchen, where his grandmother, Auntie Katie, and Uncle Joe were standing, all dressed up and drinking out of the fancy champagne flutes Mom-Mom usually only broke out for New Year’s. “The car’s here!” Teddy informed them excitedly.

“Oh yeah?” Auntie Katie smiled down at him. “Is it a big one?”

“As big as the Enterprise!”

\----

It took the grown-ups way too long to get ready to leave. By the time they all got outside, Teddy had already learned that the limo was 120 inches long, that it could accommodate up to 10 people, and that the driver, Anwar, was from Egypt, where he used to be a school teacher, but he decided he liked driving more than he liked kids. He let Teddy sit up front during the drive, so he was able to see the entire red carpet area that had been set up for the premiere of _Star Trek_.

“Whoa!” Teddy gasped as they slowed down behind a long line of other limos that were slowly letting their passengers out onto the red carpet. The studio had erected a giant Starfleet logo outside Grauman’s Chinese theater, and they would all get to walk through it on their way in to see the movie. Teddy could hardly believe the size of it all, not to mention the amount of press and fans that had assembled to watch it happen. 

He was vibrating with excitement by the time their car finally got to the spot where they’d be let out. Anwar told him to sit and wait for him to come around to open the door to him—in and of itself one of the most exciting things that had ever happened in his entire life—but before he could, Teddy saw his favorite person in the world out on the red carpet, and he had to get out immediately.

“Karl! Karl!” Teddy called, taking off at a run the moment his feet hit the ground. Once Chris had been cast as Captain Kirk, Teddy had followed casting news like an obsessive; when he saw that Éomer from Lord of the Rings was going to be in it, he had nearly lost his mind, not letting Chris have a moment’s peace until he promised to take Teddy to set. 

“Hey there, little man,” Karl Urban said when he turned around. He smiled at Teddy and held a large hand out. He had taught Teddy how to shake hands like a real man way back when they were filming, and Teddy never gave up an opportunity to practice. “Aw, you’re too strong, mate!” Karl said with a grimace, going down on one knee as Teddy grasped his hand firmly, just like he’d shown him, and gave it one-two-three pumps up and down. 

Teddy laughed happily. “Was that a good one?”

“Best one ever. Is Chris here? I thought he was coming later.”

Teddy shook his head. “I came with my family. I can hardly believe how cool this is!” 

Karl looked past Teddy to see his grandmother, who waved. Karl nodded in greeting to her then indicated the line. She smiled and nodded. “Say, you want to brave this here gauntlet with me then? I could use the company.”

“Would I?!”

Talking with the press was super exciting—at first. Soon enough, it seemed they all had about the same three or four questions to ask Karl though, and Teddy's attention soon wandered. 

“Who is _this_ little guy, then?” one woman asked, stepping closer to Karl and smiling down at Teddy. She smelled nice, but here teeth were way too white.

He glanced up at Karl, who laid a hand on his shoulder, telling it was all right to answer. “Teddy.”

“You here with your dad?”

“Yes?” Teddy wondered why she would ask that. 

“That’s so nice!” she smiled at Karl.

“Yeah, he’s a good dad.”

“I’ll bet he is!” she said, laying a hand lightly on Karl’s arm.

“My wife thinks so too,” Karl said pointedly, then they moved on. 

Eventually, they got to the end of the line, where the publicist lady wanted Karl to stand and pose for photos. Karl said he could hang out with him, but Teddy needed to stay to the end, so he made his way through the crowd back to where he’d come in.

“Mr. Nimoy!” Teddy said joyfully when he saw the original Mr. Spock. He ran up to him and gave him a big hug. 

“Theodore, my lad,” the man said with an amused chuckle as cameras flashed all over the place. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

“I am good. Did you just get here? I’m here with my family.”

“I see. How are you finding your first movie premiere? Is it as exciting as you thought it would be?”

“It’s kind of crowded, and none of these press people know anything about the show. I mean—Khan wasn’t a starship captain!” Teddy had made it his business to watch every season of Star Trek’s original series, as well as all the films.

“Such misinformation cannot be allowed!”

“I know! Don’t they look stuff up? If I don’t know something, I just look it up!”

“Attention to detail is very important. Tell me, have you been inside the theater yet?”

“No, it’s too much fun out here.” 

“Walk with me, then.” He held out a hand for Teddy to take, which he did, even though he was going to be 10 in just over two months. He liked Mr. Nimoy, he told Teddy really cool stories about olden days, and let him listen to his record albums. 

Once more, the reporters asked variations on the same questions Teddy had heard before with Karl, though there were a few more about how Mr. Nimoy felt about a torch being passed. Teddy didn't know why anyone passing a torch to anyone else would be such a big deal.

After a while, they found themselves talking to the lady with the white teeth from before. “Leonard Nimoy, the first Mr. Spock, it’s an honor to meet you!” she said with a really bright smile. 

“Is it? How nice of you to say.”

They talked about the movie for a few minutes, questions Teddy had already heard her ask Karl, when a bit of a commotion—OK, a pretty big commotion—began at the far end of the red carpet. Whatever it was, there were lots of people screaming and hooting, and the volume of camera flashes going off increased by about a million.

“Whatever could it be?” Mr. Nimoy asked.

“Probably the stars of the film showing up,” one of the cameramen observed. 

Teddy turned around, getting up on his toes to see; all he could see was the top of some heads, and a hand raised to wave. “It is, it’s them!” he said, hopping up and down excitedly. "Finally!"

“Really?” the woman with the teeth said, looking happy about something; she turned away and pulled a lipstick from somewhere.

“You’d better go and catch them then, my boy,” Mr. Nimoy said with a laugh.

Teddy didn't have to be told twice. 

The red carpet had gotten steadily more crowded since Teddy arrived, making it difficult for him to get very close. Everyone was jostling for position, trying to capture footage or a glimpse of the new arrivals. It seemed like everywhere he turned there was the back end of a camera to avoid, or the cord from some microphone. Teddy had to worm and wriggle past them, stepping on a fair number of feet along the way. “Dad!” he called as he finally pushed his way through the press of people into the space that had been left around the new Captain Kirk and Mister Spock as they greeted the fans. “Dad!”

A pair of heads turned as Teddy shouted once more. “DAD!”

Chris and Zach turned in unison, each of them grinning widely as Teddy ran up to them. “Yes?” they said together.

“I thought you’d never get here!” They bent over to embrace Teddy together, and even though he was a big kid now, Teddy secretly loved the attention. "I've been waiting and waiting!"

“I blame Zach,” Chris said. “He took forever to get dressed.” 

Zach pretended to be outraged. “It wasn’t my idea to _take a nap_.”

“It wasn’t my fault _I got tired_.”

“Is this one of those conversations where you’re really not talking about what it sounds like you’re talking about, and I’m not supposed to notice?” Teddy asked.

They both stared at Teddy soberly. “Zachary,” Chris said, “our son is too smart to fall for any of our shenanigans. If you must know, Theodore, we were kissing like teenagers in the back of the limo.”

“Ew, Dad, no.”

Zach nodded. “I’m afraid it was pretty sappy and gross. There may have also been hand-holding.”

“Ugh, you’d think after you got married you’d get sick of all that mushy stuff.”

Zach twirled the wedding ring he and Chris were both wearing for the first time at a public event around his finger with his thumb. “You would think that, but me I kind of like it.”

Chris smiled at them both. “You ready to face the public, my loves?”

“Boy howdy,” Zach said with a twinkle in his eye.

Holding hands, their entire family walked the red carpet together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time.


End file.
